mm 


m 


U    ,     7^ 


-  ijm    / 
i"  n    / 

V  / 


c 


FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


sec 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/christianOOcoxe 


& 


7W 


Ipjfe  »■ 


C.  -- 


iXoH*  R.H0Wj3m 


OBfeHS  aHOOJPEI^enC^ 


'M 


m 


m 


^2 


CHRISTIAN  BALLADS. 


JUL    6  1933 


BY 


ARTHUR     C  L  E  Y  E  L  A  X  D     C  O  X  E 


ILLUSTRATED    BT 


JOHN    A.   HOW  s.    A.  M. 


REVISED  EDITION. 


Tie  appointed  singers  before  the  Lord,  that  should  praise  the  Bbautt  •  f 
Holiness. — t  It  ro  n  ic  leg. 


NEW   YORK: 
D.    APPLETOX    AND     COMPANY. 

44-3    k   445   BROADWAY. 
1865. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S64,  by 

A.   CLEVELAND  COXE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 

JOHN   HENRY   HOBART 


Mr  Dear  Hobart, 

I  dedicate  these  Ballads  to  you,  as  a  duty  and  as  a  pleas- 
ure :  as  a  duty,  because  but  for  you  they  would  never  have 
been  written ;  and  as  a  pleasure,  because  I  rejoice  to  associate 
my  name  with  yours,  in  any  thing,  however  humble,  which  I 
am  permitted  to  do  for  the  Church  of  God.  I  need  not  say, 
that  I  consider  it  in  happy  harmony  with  their  design,  that  I 
am  privileged  to  inscribe  them  to  the  inheritor  of  a  name 
whose  praise  is  in  all  the  Churches. 

I  know  that  to  you  at  least  they  will  not  be  unacceptable. 
The  glistening  dews  of  a  Christian  boyhood  are  fast  drying  up 
from  both  of  us  ;  but  here  are  some  results  of  rambling  talks, 
and  rural  walks,  and  holiday  diversions,  which  for  years  we 
have  enjoyed  together,  and  which  through  life  will  be  dear  to 
memory,  as  having  gradually  led  us  to  find  our  best  delight, 
and  to  choose  our  portion,  in  the  amiable  dwellings  of  the 
Lord  of  Hosts. 

Yours,  my  dear  Hobart, 

A.  C.  C. 

Chelsea,  New  York, 
June  28,  1840. 


PEEFACE 

TO     THE    ILLUSTRATED     EDITION. 


A  proposal  of  the  Messrs.  Appleto^,  to  publish  an 
illustrated  edition  of  the  Christian  Ballads,  recalled  to  the 
author's  attention  a  little  work  which  graver  occupations 
had  almost  dismissed  from  his  thoughts.  He  was  startled 
to  discover  that  five-and-twenty  years  have  passed  since 
they  first  appeared. 

While  giving  them  the  benefit  of  such  a  revision  as 
might  not  materially  change  the  form  in  which  the  public 
has  been  pleased  to  accept  them,  he  was  led  to  some  reflec- 
tions, which  he  ventures  to  ttfink  may  be  properly  presented 
as  a  preface  to  this  edition,  commemorative  as  it  is  of  a 
quarter-century  in  the  history  of  the  book. 

Of  its  faults  nobody  can  be  so  sensible  as  the  author 
himself.  The  Ballads  were  produced  and  published  for 
ephemeral  circulation,  and  with  no  anticipation  of  the  favour 
with  which  they  have  been  constantly  demanded,  in  suc- 
cessive editions,  in  Europe  and  America.  They  were  the 
outpourings  of  the  honest  convictions  of  the  writer's  heart, 


VI  PREFACE. 

and  he  aimed  only  to  wake  up  the  consciousness  of  his 
countrymen  to  the  value  of  many  things  which  they  seemed 
to  underestimate.  Thev  were  not  designed  as  religious 
poems  in  the  popular  sense,  but  they  were  intended  to  show 
that  there  are  natural  relations  between  genuine  religion 
and  good  taste. 

Failing  to  observe  this  drift  and  purpose  of  the  Bal- 
lads, they  were  censured,  on  their  first  appearance,  as  if 
they  had  aimed  to  supplant  the  substance  of  religion,  by 
its  merest  accidents.  They  were  compared  with  rude 
but  hearty  lyrics  of  uneducated  piety,  and  described  as 
wholly  inferior  to  them,  in  all  that  moves  the  soul  to  pen- 
itence and  prayer.  Nothing  can  be  more  true ;  but  nothing 
could  be  more  unjust  than  the  comparison.  Hymns  are 
one  thing,  and  ballads  are  quite  another ;  and  he  who  wrote 
these  Ballads  would  be  the  first  to  maintain  that  the  writer 
of  a  single  hymn,  that  is  worthy  of  its  name,  has  produced 
something  more  precious  than  all  the  verses  that  he  ever 
penned. 

On  revising  them  he  is  further  impressed  with  a  con- 
viction that  their  merit,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  compara- 
tively much  less,  at  the  present  time,  than  when  they  were 
produced,  their  currency  having  diminished  their  intrinsic 
worth.  Thus,  they  abound  in  forms  of  expression  which 
were  fresh  and  original  when  they  appeared,  but  which 
have  since  become  tediously  familiar  in  this  kind  of  verse. 
One  word  which  he  timidly  coined,  to  express  the  perspect- 
ive lines  of  moonlight  on  the  waters,  has  passed  into  com- 
mon use ;  and  architectural  terms  which  once  were  rare  and 
poetical,  have  become  so  ordinary  and  mechanical  as  to 
deprive   some  verses,  in  which'  they  are   employed,  of  all 


PEEFACE.  Vll 

claims    to    even  the    low  merit   of  freedom  from   prosaic 
diction. 

It  is  gratifying  to  observe  the  progress  of  our  civilization 
and  the  improvement  of  the  popular  taste  in  art ;  but  the 
author  must  beg  his  readers  to  remember  that  many  things 
which  are  now  familiar  to  everybody  in  America,  were 
wholly  unknown  among  us  when  these  Ballads  were  pro- 
duced. Their  author  was  obliged  to  imagine  much  that 
may  now  be  seen  in  almost  every  part  of  the  land.  When 
he  wrote  them,  there  was  not  a  church  in  the  country  which 
could  sustain  any  other  than  the  most  moderate  pretensions 
to  architectural  correctness  in  design  or  decoration.  He 
had  never  seen  more  than  a  few  panes  of  stained  glass  in  a 
church  window,  nor  heard  a  complete  chime  of  bells ;  and 
there  was  not  to  be  seen,  on  this  Continent,  so  far  as  he  is 
informed,  an  open  roof,  or  a  well-defined  chancel,  or  genu" 
ine  aisles,  or  a  nave  with  a  clere-story.  Floral  decorations 
were  almost  unknown,  and  children  were  not  provided 
with  a  single  carol.  It  has  often  been  asserted,  by  gener- 
ous critics,  like  the  late  Dr.  Croswell,  that  the  publication 
of  the  Ballads  contributed  largely  to  introduce  the  change 
in  popular  taste;  but  the  author  is  well  aware  that  his 
own  delight  in  such  things  was  the  product,  in  a  great 
measure,  of  what  Dr.  Croswell  and  Bishops  Doane  and 
Hopkins,  and  Dr.  Muhlenberg,  with  others  that  might  be 
named,  had  been  doing  before.  From  the  progressive  fu- 
ture he  anticipates  a  great  reduction  in  the  popularity  of 
his  verses.  They  will  fail  to  please  when  Avhat  is  now 
agreeable  in  fancy  becomes  common  in  fact ;  and  it  is  the 
height  of  his  ambition  with  regard  to  them,  that  they  may 
yet  do  something  to  hasten  the  time  when  they  will  be 
quite  sunerfluous. 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

With  a  sincere  gratitude  to  his  Christian  brethren,  and 
to  his  publishers  in  England  and  America,  he  desires  to 
acknowledge  the  singular  and  entirely  unexpected  success 
which  the  little  book  has  enjoyed.  It  has  brought  him 
kindly  greetings,  and  pleasant  letters,  from  the  most  dis- 
tant and  from  some  of  the  most  obscure  portions  of  the 
earth.  It  has  gained  him  some  of  the  most  enviable  of 
friendships.  In  foreign  travel  it  has  opened  his  way  to 
cottages  and  to  castles :  he  found  it  on  the  shelves  of  Eton 
boys,  and  in  the  rooms  of  grave  fellows  of  the  Universities. 
In  Ireland  he  was  presented  with  a  curious  series  of  imita- 
tions of  Dreamland,  some  grave  and  some  comical ;  and 
of  Scotland  and  Wales  he  owes  some  of  his  happiest  rec- 
ollections to  incidents  connected  with  the  circulation  of 
the  Ballads,  in  several  forms.  To  Count  Tasca,  the  emin- 
ent poet  and  patriot  of  Northern  Italy,  he  is  indebted  for 
the  introduction  of  several  of  them  to  his  countrymen,  in 
spirited  translations ;  and  the  Comte  de  Montalembert  has 
unwittingly  connected  a  stanza  from  one  of  them,  with  a 
work  which  will  be  ever  memorable  in  the  history  of  the 
French  empire.  In  his  famous  philippic,  Un  d'ebat  sur 
VInde  au  Parlement  Anglais,  he  introduced,  with  a  sting- 
iiro*  reflection  on  the  contrast  between  the  state  of  things 
in  England  and  France,  the  following  historical  relation : 

"  Xon  loin  de  Birmingham,  s'eleve  un  vieux  manoir  feodal,  en- 
toure  d'un  beau  pare  et  appele  Aston-Hall.  La  famille  ancienne  qui 
en  etait  proprietaire  ne  pouvait  s'empecher  de  le  vendue.  Alors 
Tidee  vint  a  quelques-uns  d'en  faire  l'acquisition  pour  le  trans-former 
en  un  pare  du  peuple,  conformement  a  un  example  deja  clonne 
par  d'autres  villes.  On  Tappuie  par  une  souscription  generale 
dont  tout  le  monde  prend  sa  part.  Le  domaine  est  achete,  le  vieux 
chateau,  soigneusement  restaure,  est  destine  a  recevoir  une  exposi- 


PREFACE.  IX 

tion  perinanente  des  arts,  et  le  grand  pare,  avec  ses  arbres  secu- 
laires,  est  transforme  en  lieu  de  promenade  et  de  recreation  pour 
les  families  ouvrieres.  On  envoie  chercher  la  Eeine.  Le  15  juin 
1858,  la  reine  obeit  a  cet  appel  touchant;  elle  vient,  et  six  cent 
mille  ouvriers  accourent  au  devant  d'elle,  sortant  par  myriades  de 
toutes  les  fourmilieres  industrielles  du  ptoys  noir,  e'est  a  dire  des 
comtes  de  Stafford  et  de  Warwick.  La  reine  traverse  ces  flots 
d'une  population  entbousiaste  et  inaugure  le  nouveau  musee.  Pen- 
dant qu'elle  s'eloigne,  quarante  mille  enfants  des  ecoles  libres  et 
nationales,  ranges  en  espalier  sur  son  passage,  sous  les  grands  ar- 
bres qui  avaient  peut-etre  vu  passer  diaries  Ier,  cbantent  en  masse, 
avec  un  accent  a  la  fois  innocent  et  passionne  qui  arracha  des  larmes 
a  plus  d'un  assistant,  un  hymne  en  vers  passablement  grossiers, 
dont  le  refrain  dit :  Or  prions  tous  pour  notre  patrie ;  que  Dieu 
garde  long-temps  V  Angleterre,  qiCil  la  garde  eliretienne  heureuse  et 
glorieusement  libre  ! 

"  Now  pray  we  for  our  country, 
That  England  long  may  be 
The  holy  and  the  happy, 
And  the  gloriously  free ! " 

The  Comte  de  Montalembert  little  imagined  that  the 
refrain  which  arose  that  day  on  the  voices  of  forty  thou- 
sand English  children,  was  taught  them  by  an  American, 
whose  affection  for  the  Motherland  might  have  furnished 
the  French  emperor  with  another  salutary  reflection,  upon 
the  power  of  English  Christianity  and  civilization  over 
many  who  owe  no  subscription  to  the  English  crown. 
And  this  reminds  the  writer  that  whereas,  when  he  wrote 
those  lines,  they  were  by  no  means  expressive  of  the  com- 
mon feeling  of  his  countrymen,  he  lived  to  see  the  day 
when,  on  the  visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  America,  they 
might  have  been  sung  with  universal  applause  at  every 
stage  of  his  progress — at  almost  every  stage,  for  the  ex- 
ception need  not  be  named.  It  is  the  writer's  fervent 
prayer,  that  the  generous  spirit  of  his  countrymen,  which 


X  PREFACE. 

has  been  so  little  encouraged  by  subsequent  events,  may 
yet  be  drawn  forth  afresh  by  such  a  change  of  policy  in 
England,  as  may  secure  to  her  the  natural  alliance  which, 
but  a  little  while  ago,  she  might  have  made  her  own  for- 
ever, and  with  which  she  might  confront  the  world,  and 
go  forth  anew  to  the  noblest  enterprises  for  the  welfare  of 
mankind. 

A.  C.  C. 
Rectory,  Calvaey  Chuech, 

Geameecy  Squaee,  X.  Y.,  Sept.  1864. 


CONTENTS. 


Hymn  of  Boyhood, 11 

St.  Sacrament,         . 17 

Antioch, 33 

Dreamland, 39 

Carol, 47 

Lament, 54 

Ember-Prayers, 57 

England, 61 

Chronicles, 72 

The  Chimes  of  England, 84 

Scotland, 88 

Seabury's  Mitre, 95 

Rustic  Churches, '  98 

Churchyards, 102 

Trinity,  Old  Church, 108 

Trinity,  New  Church, 113 

The  Spire-Cross, 118 

Oratories, 123 

Wayside  Homes, 126 

Little  Woodmere, 128 

Desolations, 186 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

Chelsea, 139 

Vigils, 144 

Matin  Bells, 149 

The  Curfew, 152 

TTildminster, 156 

Nashotah, 160 

St.  Silvan's  Bell, 166 

Daily  Service, 172 

Christmas  Carol, 176 

Christening, 180 

The  Calendar, 184 

The  Soul-Dirge, 188 

The  Church's  Daughter, 192 

I  love  the  Church, 198 

Italian  Versions, 205 

Notes, 223 


CHKISTIAN    BALLADS 


!)mnn  of  §o$aob. 


One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  which  I  will  require,  even  that  I 
may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my  life,  to  behold  the 
fair  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to  visit  His  temple. — Psalter. 


FIRST     dear    thing 
tliat  ever  I  loved 
Was  a  mother's  gen- 
tle eye, 
That  smiled,  as  I  woke 
on    the    dreamy 
couch 
That    cradled    my 
infancy. 
I  never  forget  the  joy- 
ous thrill 
That  smile  in  my  spirit  stirred, 


12  HYMN    OF   BOYHOOD. 

Nor  how  it  could  charm  me  against  my  will. 
Till  I  laughed  like  a  joyous  bird. 

ii. 

And  the  next  fair  thing  that  ever  I  loved 

Was  a  bunch  of  summer  flowers, 
With  odours,  and  hues,  and  loveliness, 

Fresh  as  from  Eden's  bowers. 
I  never  can  find  such  hues  agen, 

Nor  smell  such  a  sweet  perfume  ; 
And  if  there  be  odours  as  sweet  as  then, 

'Tis  I  that  have  lost  the  bloom. 

.    in. 

And"  the  next  dear  thing  that  ever  I  loved 

Was  a  fawn-like  little  maid, 
Half-pleased,  half-awed  by  the  frolic  boy 

That  tortured  her  doll,  and  played  : 
I  never  can  see  the  gossamere 

Which  rude  rough  zephyrs  tease, 
But  I  think  how  I  tossed  her  flossy  locks 

With  my  whirling  bonnet's  breeze. 

IV. 

And  the  next  good  thing  that  ever  I  loved 
Was  a  bow-kite  in  the  sky ; 


HYMN   OF   BOYHOOD.  13 

And  a  little  boat  on  the  brooklet's  surf, 

And  a  dog  for  my  company : 
And  a  jingling  hoop,  with  many  a  bound 

To  my  measured  strike  and  true  ; 
And  a  rocket  sent  up  to  the  firmament, 

When  Even  was  out  so  blue. 

v. 

And  the  next  fair  thing  I  was  fond  to  love 

Was  a  field  of  wavy  grain, 
Where  the  reapers  mowed ;  or  a  ship  in  sail 

On  the  billowy,  billowy  main  : 
And  the  next  was  a  fiery  prancing  horse 

That  I  felt  like  a  man  to  stride  ; 
And  the  next  was  a  beautiful  sailing  boat 

With  a  helm  it  was  hard  to  guide. 

VI. 

And  the  next  dear  thing  I  was  fond  to  love 

Is  tenderer  far  to  tell ; 
'Twas  a  voice,  and  a  hand,  and  a  gentle  eye 

That  dazzled  me  with  its  spell : 
And  the  loveliest  things  I  had  loved  before 

Were  only  the  landscape  now, 
On  the  canvass  bright  where  I  pictured  her, 

In  the  glow  of  my  early  vow. 


14  HYMN    OF   BOYHOOD. 


vn. 

And  the  next  good  thing  I  was  fain  to  love 

Was  to  sit  in  my  cell  alone, 
Musing  o'er  all  these  lovely  things, 

Forever,  forever  flown. 
Then  out  I  walked  in  the  forest  free, 

Where  wantoned  the  autumn  wind, 
And  the  coloured  boughs  swung  shiveringly, 

In  harmony  with  my  mind. 

VIH. 

And  a  spirit  was  on  me  that  next  I  loved, 

That  ruleth  my  spirit  still, 
And  maketh  me  murmur  these  sing-song  words, 

Albeit  against  my  will. 
And  I  walked  the  woods  till  the  winter  came, 

And  then  did  I  love  the  snow ; 
And  I  heard  the  gales,  through  the  wildwood  aisles, 

Like  the  Lord's  own  organ  blow. 

IX. 

And  the  bush  I  had  loved  in  my  greenwood  wa]k, 

I  saw  it  afar  away, 
Surpliced  with  snows,  like  the  bending  priest 

That  kneels  in  the  church  to  pray : 


HYMX    OF   BOYHOOD.  15 

And  I  thought  of  the  vaulted  fane,  and  high, 

Where  I  stood  when  a  little  child, 
Awed  by  the  lauds  sung  thrillingly, 

And  the  anthems  undefiled. 


And  again  to  the  vaulted  church  I  went, 

And  I  heard  the  same  sweet  prayers, 
And  the  same  full  organ-peals  upsent, 

And  the  same  soft  soothing  airs ; 
And  I  felt  in  my  spirit  so  drear  and  strange, 

To  think  of  the  race  I  ran, 
That  I  loved  the  lone  thing  that  knew  no  change 

In  the  soul  of  the  boy  and  man. 


XL 

And  the  tears  I  wept  in  the  wilderness 

And  that  froze  on  my  lids,  did  fall, 
And  melted  to  pearls  for  my  sinfulness. 

Like  scales  from  the  eyes  of  Paul : 
And  the  last  dear  thing  I  was  fond  to  love, 

"Was  that  holy  service  high, 
That  lifted  my  soul  to  joys  above, 

And  pleasures  that  do  not  die. 


16  HY3JDS    OF   BOYHOOD. 

XII. 

And  then,  said  I,  one  thing  there  is 

That  I  of  the  Lord  desire, 
That  ever,  while  I  on  earth  shall  live. 

I  will  of  the  Lord  require, 
That  I  may  dwell  in  His  temple  blest 

As  long  as  my  life  shall  be, 
And  the  beauty  fair  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts 

In  the  home  of  His  glory  see. 


St  Sacrament 


A    LEGEXD    OF  LAKE    GEORGE. 


SUMMER    shower    had 
swept  the  woods ; 
But  when,  from  all  the 
scene, 
'     Rolled  off  at  length  the 
thunder-clouds, 
And  streamed  the  sun- 
set sheen ; 
I  came  where  my  postil- 
ion raised 
His    horsewhip    for    a 
wand, 

■  -And  said.  There's  Hori- 

- 

-  *^Qg>"  con,  good  sir, 

And  here's  the  Bloody  Pond  ! 
3 


18  ST.    SACRAMENT. 

n. 

And  don't  you  see  yon  low  gray  wall, 

With  grass  and  bushes  grown  ? 
Well,  that's  Fort  George's  palisade, 

That  many  a  storm  has  known  : 
But  here's  the  Bloody  Pond,  where  sleeps 

Full  many  a  soldier  tall ; 
The  spring,  they  say,  was  never  pure 

Since  that  red  burial. 

ni. 

'Twas  rare  to  see  !     That  vale  beneath  ; 

That  lake  so  calm  and  cool ! 
But  mournful  was  each  lily-wreath 

Upon  the  turbid  pool : 
And — on,  postilion,  let  us  haste 

To  greener  banks,  I  cried, 
Oh,  stay  me  not  where  man  has  stained 

With  brother's  blood  the  tide  ! 

IV. 

An  hour — and  though  the  Even-star 
Was  chasing  down  the  sun, 

My  boat  was  on  thine  azure  wave, 
Sweet,  holy  Horicon  ! 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  19 


And  woman's  voice  cheered  on  onr  bark, 

With  soft  bewildering  song, 
While  fire-flies  darting  through  the  dark 

Went  lighting  us  along. 


Anon,  that  bark  was  on  the  beach, 

And  soon,  I  stood  alone 
Upon  thy  mouldering  walls,  Fort  George, 

So  old,  and  ivy-grown. 
At  once,  old  tales  of  massacre 

Were  crowding  on  my  soul, 
And  ghosts  of  ancient  sentinels 

Paced  up  the  rocky  knoll. 


VI. 

The  shadowy  hour  was  dark  enow 

For  fancy's  wild  campaign, 
And  moments  were  impassioned  hours 

Of  battle  and  of  pain  ; 
Each  brake  and  thistle  seemed  alive 

With  fearful  shapes  of  fight, 
And  up  the  feather' cl  scalp-locks  rose 

Of  many  a  tawny  sprite. 


20  ST.    SACEAJIENT. 

vn. 

The  Mohawk  war-whoop  howled  agen 

I  heard  St.  Denys'  charge, 
And  then  the  volleyed  musketry 

Of  England  and  St.  George. 
The  vale,  the  rocks,  the  cradling  hills, 

From  echoing  rank  to  rank, 
Rung  back  the  warlike  rhetoric 

Of  Huron  and  of  Frank. 

vin. 

So,  keep  thy  name,  Lake  George,  said  I, 

And  bear  to  latest  day, 
The  memory  of  onr  primal  age, 

And  England's  early  sway ; 
And  when  Columbia's  flag  shall  here 

Her  starry  glories  toss, 
Be  witness  how  onr  fathers  fought 

Beneath  St.  George's  cross. 

IX. 

An  hour  again — and  shone  the  moon 

Above  the  mountain  gray, 
And  there  the  pearly  Horicon 

Leap'd  up  like  fountain  spray ; 


ST.    SACK  ANIENT.  21 

The  rippled  wavelets  seemed  to  dance, 

And  starlight  seemed  to  sing ; 
I  never  saw,  in  all  my  life, 

So  gay  and  bright  a  thing. 


x. 

And  nought,  save  lulling  Katydid, 

Presumed  the  hush  to  mar ; 
And  then  it  was,  I  longed  to  hear 

Some  light  canoe  afar ; 
I  listened  for  the  paddle's  dip, 

And  in  the  moon-path  clear, 
I  wished  some  Indian  bark  might  glide, 

With  all  its  shapes  of  fear. 


XL 

The  Indian  tales  of  Horicon 

Were  in  my  spirit  now, 
And  Sachems  of  the  olden  time, 

With  more  than  Roman  brow ; 
And  all  the  forest  histories 

That  make  our  young  romance, 
As  in  a  wizard's  glass,  they  moved 

O'er  that  blue  lake's  expanse. 


ST.    SACRAMENT. 


xn. 


And  keep  thy  name,  clear  Horicon, 

Thine  Indian  name,  said  I ; 
'Tis  meet,  if  thine  old  lords  are  dead, 

Their  fame  should  never  die  : 
So  keep  thy  name,  sweet  Horicon, 

And  be,  to  latest  days, 
Thine  old  free-dwellers'  monument, 

Their  glory  and  their  praise. 

xm. 

But  morn  was  up,  the  beamy  morn, 

That  sapphire  lake  above, 
O'er  waters  blue  as  amethyst, 

And  innocent  as  love  ; 
And  there  'twas  glorious  to  cool 

The  glowing  breast  and  limb, 
For  never  did  a  river-nymph 

In  sweeter  ripples  swim. 

xrv. 

All  day  my  boat  was  on  the  lake, 
My  thoughts  upon  its  shore ; 

And  emerald  islets,  one  by  one, 
My  joyous  footsteps  bore  : 


ST.    SACEAMENT.  23 

And  where,  'mid  green  and  mossy  nests, 

The  sparks  of  quartz  outshine, 
I  pulled  young  flowerets  from  the  rocks, 

And  oped  the  crystal  mine. 


xv. 

But  when  the  breezy  even  came, 

Again,  outstretched  I  lay, 
Upon  the  weedy  battlements 

Of  that  old  ruin  gray. 
And  all  alone,  'twas  beautiful 

To  muse,  reclining  there, 
And  feel  the  chill,  so  desolate, 

Of  half  autumnal  air. 


XYI. 

Afar,  afar,  I  cast  mine  eye 

Adown  the  winding  view : 
The  lake,  the  distance,  and  the  sky, 

"Were  all  a  heavenly  blue : 
And  distant  Thuxg  rose  glorious 

With  colours  for  his  crown, 
And  girt  with  clouds  all  rainbow-like, 

And  robes  of  green  and  brown. 


24:  ST.    SACEAMENT. 

xyn. 
A  holy  stillness,  and  a  calm, 

O'er  me  and  nature  stole, 
And  like  a  babe  the  waters  slept 

Within  their  pebbled  bowl : 
The  gales  that  tossed  my  tangled  hair, 

And  stirred  the  fragrant  fern, 
They  only  kissed  the  water's  breast, 

And  smoothed  its  brimming  urn. 

xvm. 

And  I  was  dreaming,  though  awake, 

Such  thoughts  as  made  me  sigh, 
When,  hark !  the  alder-bushes  break, 

And  falls  a  footstep  nigh  ! 
A  man  of  olden  years  came  up  ; 

A  brown  old  yeoman  he, 
And  on,  through  thorn  and  reedy  bank, 

He  pushed  his  way  to  me. 

xrx. 

He  climbed  the  rough  old  demilune. 

With  iron-studded  shoe, 
Upturning,  at  his  every  stride, 

Old  flints  and  bullets  too. 


ST.    SACKAMEIST.  25 


And  arrow-heads  that  told  a  tale 
Were  in  each  earthy  clod 

That  rumbled  down  the  ravelin, 
And  crumbled  as  he  trod. 


xx. 

Now  tell  me,  tell  me,  yeoman  good, 

One  tale  to  bear  away, 
With  relics  for  the  well-beloved, 

Of  this  old  ruin  gray ; 
With  flowers  I've  gathered  round  the  mole, 

One  legend  would  I  twine ; 
And  you  may  chance  remember  one 

That  was  some  kin  of  mine  ! 


XXI. 

Canst  tell  of  Cleveland,  or  Monroe, 

That  fought  for  George's  sake ; 
Or  know  you  of  the  young  Montcalm, 

Or  Uncas — on  the  lake  ? 
He  called  it  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 

That  yeoman  brown  and  brave, 
And  thus,  half  soldier  and  half  hind, 

His  simple  story  gave  : 
4 


ST.    SACRAMENT. 


XXII. 


My  father  was  a  Frenchman  bold, 

Came  o'er  the  bitter  sea, 
And  here  he  poured  his  red  heart's  blood 

For  Louis'  fleur-de-lys : 
And  yonder  did  he  bid  me  swear 

To  say,  when  he  was  gone, 
He  drinks  the  Holy  Sacrament 

Who  drinks  of  Horicon. 

XXTTT. 

And  then  a  lake-drop  on  his  lip, 

A  tear-drop  in  his  eye, 
He  blest  his  boy,  his  king,  his  God, 

And  turned  his  face  to  die  : 
A  moment — and  St.  George's  flag, 

And  England's  musket  roar, 
They  rapt  me  from  my  soldier-sire, 

And  I  beheld  no  more. 

XXIY. 

He  drinks  the  Holy  Sacrament 
Who  drinks  this  crystal  wave. 

That  Sacrament  baptized  his  death, 
And  was,  they  say,  his  grave  : 


ST.    SACKAMEXT.  27 


Adieu,  adieu,  thou  stranger  youth, 
But  say,  when  I  am  gone, 

This  lake  is  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 
And  not  Lake  Horicon. 


XXY. 

And  down  the  quarry  stumbled  he, 

Ere  I  could  hold  him  back ; 
But  sounds  of  crackling  alder-bush 

Betrayed  his  sturdy  track. 
I  saw  the  cottage-smoke  up  wreathe 

Beneath  the  mountain  shade, 
And  there  I  knew  that  old  yeoman 

His  hermitage  had  made. 

XXYI. 

And  there,  when  I  had  followed  him, 

He  told  me  more  and  more, 
The  magic  and  the  witchery 

Of  that  romantic  shore. 
'Tis  many  a  year,  he  said,  since  here 

There  was  no  Christian  soul ; 
The  Indian  only,  or  the  deer, 

To  taste  these  waters  stole. 


28  ST.    SACRAMEXT. 

xxvn. 

The  savage,  in  the  heat  of  noon, 

Came  panting  through  the  wood 
To  stain  the  silver-pebbled  beach, . 

And  wash  away  his  blood : 
And  there,  where  those  tall  aspens  stand 

They  fought  a  horrid  fray ; 
The  very  leaves  that  shaded  them 

Are  trembling  to  this  day. 

xxvin. 

But  years  rolled  on — the  sun  beheld 

Those  savage  chiefs  agen, 
All  gathered  as  at  council  fires, 

Or  leagued  with  peaceful  men  : 
They  listed  in  their  multitudes, 

To  one,  that  midst  them  stood, 
And  reared  the  Cross — as  painters  draw 

John  Baptist  in  the  Wood. 

XXIX. 

They  listened  to  his  wondrous  words 

Upon  the  pebbled  strand  ; 
And  ay — they  welcomed  in  their  hearts, 

The  reign  of  God  at  hand. 


ST.    SACRAMEXT. 


With  laud  and  anthem  rung  the  grove ; 

And  here,  where  howled  their  jell, 
I've  heard  their  Christian  litanies, 


And  high  Te  Deum  swell. 


XXX. 

And  when  the  golden  Easter  came 

Again  they  gathered  there, 
All  eager  for  the  Christian  name, 

And  Christ's  dear  Cross  to  bear. 
Oh  !  forest-aisles,  ye  trembled  then, 

Like  fanes  where  organs  roll, 
To  hear  those  savage-featured  men 

Outpour  the  Christian  soul. 


XXXI. 

And  in  the  wild- wood's  walks  they  knelt 

To  own  their  sins  and  pray ; 
And  in  these  holy  water-floods, 

They  washed  their  sins  away : 
By  Horicon,  the  Trinal  God 

Confessed  them  for  His  sons, 
And  here  the  Holt  Spirit  sealed 

His  own  begotten  ones. 


30  ST.    SACRAMEXT. 

XXXH. 

Oh !  Abana  and  Pharpar  old 

Must  yield  to  Jordan's  flow ; 
But  never  this  clear  Horicon ; 

The  Prophet  said  not  so  ! 
For  sins  more  dire  than  leprosy 

These  waves  have  washed  away, 
And  so  they  named  clear  Horicon, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 

xxxm. 

Then  onward  sped  the  missionaire 

The  wilderness  to  wake  : 
A  voice  was  on  the  desert  air, 

For  God  a  highway  make  ! 
The  lifted  Cross,  from  hill  to  hill, 

Proclaimed  the  Gospel  word, 
But  sweet  St.  Sacrament  was  still 

The  laver  of  the  Lord. 

xxxrv. 

And  years  on  years  went  rolling  by  ; 

The  Indian  boy  grew  old  ; 
But  longed  once  more,  ere  he  should  die, 

That  laver  to  behold  : 


ST.    SACRAMENT.  31 


And  panting  from  his  pilgrimage 
He  came  at  heat  of  day ; 

The  lake  was  calm  as  in  his  youth, 
St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 


XXXV. 

Then  fell  the  white  man's  tracks  around 

Upon  this  virgin  sand  : 
And  bowed  thy  glories,  Horicon, 

Before  his  faithless  hand  ! 
He  sent  these  waters  o'er  the  sea 

In  marble  nrns  to  shine, 
And  christened  babes  of  royalty 

In  streams  that  christened  mine. 


XXXVI. 

Adieu,  adieu !  my  stranger  boy ; 

Bat  say,  when  I  am  gone, 
This  lake  is  Lake  St.  Sacrament, 

And  not  Lake  Horicon : 
And  when  some  lip  that  charmeth  thee 

Shall  ask  of  thee  a  lay, 
Oh  bid  her  call  Lake  Horicon, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye. 


ST.    SACEAMEXT. 


XXXVII. 


Then  keep  thy  name,  sweet  Lake,  said  I, 

Thine  holy  name  alone ! 
I  love  St.  George's  memory, 

And  Indian  honour  flown ; 
But  never  heard  I  history 

Like  thine,  old  man,  this  day : 
The  lake  is  Christ's  for  evermore, 

St.  Sacrament,  for  aye  ! 


%v&ozh. 


And  the  disciples  were  called  Christians  first  in  Antioch.- AeUofth* 


Apostles. 


LD  Antiocli  shall  answer  ye 
"What  title  I  would  claim  ! 
Old  Antiocli — whence  Christian  men 

Confess  their  Christian  name. 
I  wear  no  other  name  but  Cheist's, 
And  His  is  name  enow, 
Writ  by  our  mother's  spousal  hand 
On  all  her  children's  brow. 


34  AXTIOCH. 

n. 

Yet  something  doth  that  mother  give, 

A  token  to  her  sons, 
And  Catholic  doth  she  surname 

Her  Loed's  begotten  ones  : 
And  such,  the  children  of  her  love 

Are  children  all  of  Heaven  : 
Lo  I — she  answereth  to  God, 

And  these  that  Thou  hast  given. 

m. 

I  know  that  many  martyrs  died 

At  rack  and  cruel  stake, 
And  Cranmer  laid  his  prelate  hand 

On  fire,  for  Jest's  sake  ; 
And  many  a  bishop's  burning  heart, 

Like  flame  was  lost  in  flame  : 
But  Cheist — none  other  died  for  me ; 

I'll  wear  no  other  name. 

rv. 

I  wear  the  name  of  Cheist  my  God, 
So  name  me  not  from  man  ! 

And  my  broad  country  Catholic, 
It  hath  nor  tribe  nor  clan  : 


ANTIOCH.  35 


And  one  and  endless  is  the  line 
Through  all  the  world  that  went, 

Commissioned  from  that  Holy  Hill 
Of  Christ's  snblime  ascent. 


For  there,  our  great  Melchizedek 

Ordained  of  God  that  came, 
And  not  Himself  did  glorify 

To  wear  His  priestly  name, 
His  mantle — as  He  went  on  high, 

To  chosen  sons  bequeathed, 
And  bade  Apostles  feed  His  lambs, 

As  o'er  them  all  He  breathed. 


VI. 

'Twas  there,  as  God  had  sent  the  Son, 

The  Son  His  own  did  send, 
And  with  them  promised  to  abide 

For  ever — to  the  end  : 
And  faithful  to  His  plighted  love, 

The  Lord  is  with  us  yet, 
Where  our  apostles  bear  the  keys 

He  left  on  Olivet. 


36  AXTIOCH. 

vn. 

Then  call  me  not  to  other  folds  ; 

No  greener  fields  I  see  ; 
The  shepherds  of  my  Lord  alone 

Can  feed  a  lamb  like  me  : 
I  cannot  wander,  if  I  will, 

For  whensoever  wooed, 
Out-names  a  burning  chronicle 

In  Peter  and  in  Jude. 

Yin. 

I  read  how  Korah  boldly  swung 

The  censer  God  abhorr'd, 
And  spurned  old  Aaron's  litanies, 

Commanded  of  the  Loed. 
Those  bold  Apostles  echo  it, 

And  while  their  voice  I  hear, 
If  your  strange  folds  seemed  Eden's  gate 

That  waving  sword  I  fear. 

IX. 

I  hear  my  Saviour's  earnest  prayer, 

That  one  we  all  may  be, 
And — oh,  how  can  I  go  with  them 

Who  tear  Him  bodily  ? 


ANTIOCH.  37 


I  see  the  heralds  of  His  cross 
Whom  Jesus  sent  of  yore  ; 

And  can  I  spurn  anointed  hands  ? 
I  love  my  Saviour  more. 


x. 

Dear  Lamb  of  God  !  I  know  full  well 

All  power  to  Thee  was  given, 
And  oh  there  is  no  other  Name, 

To  name  us,  under  heaven  ! 
I  know  when  Thou  didst  send  a  line 

Through  all  the  world  to  run, 
~No  arm  of  flesh,  if  that  hath  failed, 

Can  weave  a  surer  one  ! 


XI. 

Thou,  Priest  and  Prophet  art  for  us, 

Our  great  High  Priest  in  heaven  ; 
While  to  Thy  lowly  priests  on  earth, 

Thy  prophet  voice  is  given  : 
Thank  God,  it  never  failed,  nor  shall ! 

That  long  unbroken  chain 
Begun  in  Thee — in  Thee  shall  end, 

When  Thou  shalt  come  again. 


38  axtioch. 

xn. 

So  Christ  forbid  that  I  should  boast, 

Save  in  His  blood-red  cross  ; 
And  let  me,  for  the  Crucified, 

Count  other  gain  but  loss  ; 
And  ye  that  scorn  His  follower, 

And  deem  my  glory  shame, 
Forget  not,  in  upbraiding  me, 

To  name  me  by  His  name. 


ill 


gwamlantr. 


LAY,  a  lay,  good  Christians  ! 

I  have  a  tale  to  tell, 
Though  I  have  ne'er  a  palmer's  staff, 

Kor  hat  with  scallop-shell : 
And  though  I  never  went  astray 
From  this  mine  own  conntree, 
111  tell  what  never  pilgrim  told 
That  ever  rode  the  sea. 


n. 


A  lay,  a  lay,  good  Christians  ! 
My  boyish  harp  is  fain 


40  DEEAMLAXD. 

To  chaunt  our  mother's  loveliness, 

In  an  eternal  strain  ; 
And  true  it  is  I  never  strayed 

Beyond  her  careful  hand, 
And  yet  my  lay,  good  Christians, 

Is  of  a  Holy-Land. 

in. 

In  Dreamland  once  I  saw  a  Church  ; 

Amid  the  trees  it  stood  ; 
And  reared  its  little  steeple-cross 

Above  the  sweet  green-wood ; 
And  then  I  heard  a  Dreamland  chime 

Peal  out  from  Dreamland  tower, 
And  saw  how  Dreamland  Christian-folk 

Can  keep  the  matin-hour. 

rv. 

And  Dreamland  Church  was  decent  all, 

And  green  the  churchyard  round  ; 
The  Dreamland  sextons  never  keep 

Their  kine  in  holy  ground  : 
And  not  the  tinkling  cow-bell  there 

The  poet's  walk  becalms  ; 
But  where  the  dead  in  Cheist  repose, 

The  bells  ring  holy  psalms. 


DEEAMLAND.  41 


And  Dreamland  folk  do  love  their  dead, 

For  every  mound  I  saw, 
Had  flowers,  and  wreaths,  and  garlands,  such 

As  painters  love  to  draw  ! 
I  asked  what  seeds  made  such  fair  buds, 

And — scarce  I  trust  my  ears, 
The  Dreamland  folk  averred  such  things 

Do  only  grow  from — tears. 

VI. 

And  while  I  hung  the  graves  around, 

I  heard  the  organ  pour  : 
I  was  the  only  Christian  man 

Without  that  sacred  door  ! 
A  week-day  morn — but  church  was  full ; 

And  full  the  chaunting  choir, 
For  Dreamland  music  is  for  God, 

And  not  for  man  and — hire. 

vn. 

I  saw  the  Dreamland  minister 

In  snowy  vestments  pray  : 
He  seemed  to  think  'twas  natural 

That  prayer  should  ope  the  day : 


42  DREAMLAXD. 

And  Dreamland  folk  responded  loud 
To  blessings  in  God's  name  ; 

And  in  the  praises  of  the  Lord, 
Thej  had  no  sense  of  shame  ! 


TDZE. 

And  Dreamland  folk,  they  kneel  them  down 

Eight  on  the  stony  floor  ; 
I  saw  they  were  uncivilized, 

Xor  knew  how  we  adore  : 
And  yet  I  taught  them  not,  I  own, 

The  posture  more  refined, 
For  well  I  knew  the  picturesque 

Scarce  suits  the  savage  mind. 


And  Dreamland  folk  do  lowly  bow 

To  own  that  Christ  is  God  : 
And  I  confess  I  taught  them  not 

The  fashionable  nod. 
And  Dreamland  folk  sing  Glorda 

At  every  anthem's  close, 
But  have  not  learn'd  its  value  yet 

To  stir  them  from  a  doze. 


DREAMLAND  43 

X. 

I  saw  a  Dreamland  babe  baptized, 

With  all  the  church  to  see, 
And  strange  as  'twas — the  blessed  sight 

'Twas  beautiful  to  me  ! 
For  many  a  voice  cried  loud  Amen, 

When,  o'er  its  streaming  brow, 
The  pearly  cross  was  charactered, 

To  seal  its  Christian  vow. 

XI. 

I  learned  that  Dreamland  children  all, 

As  bowing  sponsors  swear, 
To  bishop's  hands  are  duly  brought, 

To  Eucharist  and  prayer  : 
And  Dreamland  maids  wear  snow-white  veils 

At  confirmation-hour : 
For  such — an  old  Apostle  wrote, 

Should  clothe  their  heads,  with  power. 

xn. 

The  Dreamland  folk  they  wed  in  church ; 

They  deem  the  Lord  is  there, 
And,  as  of  old  in  Galilee, 

May  bless  a  bridal  pair  : 


44  DEEA^CLAXD. 

And  strange  enough,  the  simple  ones, 

They  see,  in  wedded  love, 
Sweet  emblems  of  their  Mother  Church, 

And  Cheist  her  Loed  above. 


xin. 

I  saw  a  Dreamland  funeral 

Come  up  the  shadowed  way : 
The  Dreamland  priest  was  surplice-clad 

To  meet  the  sad  array ;  * 
And  when  his  little  flock  drew  nigh 

To  give  the  dust  their  dead, 
His  voice  went  soothingly  before, 

As  if  a  shepherd  led. 

xrv. 

In  earth  they  laid  the  Dreamlaud  man  $ 

And  then  a  chaunt  was  given, 
So  sweet,  that  I  could  well  believe, 

I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  : 
And  singing  children  o'er  the  grave 

Like  cherub  chaunters  stood, 
Pouring  their  angel  lullabies, 

To  make  its  slumber  good. 


DREAMLAND.  45 

XV. 

The  Dreamland  folk  count  seasons  four, 

All  woven  into  one  ! 
"lis  Advent,  Lent,  or  Easter  tide, 

Or  Trinity  begun  : 
The  first  is  green  as  emerolde, 

The  next  of  cypress  hue, 
The  third  is  glorious  all  as  goM 

The  fourth  is  sapphire-blue. 

XVI. 

The  Dreamland  folk  are  simple  ones ; 

Who  knows  but  these  are  they, 
Described  in  ancient  chronicle, 

As  Children  of  the  Day ! 
They  seemed  no  denizens  of  earth, 

But  more — a  pilgrim  band, 
With  no  abiding  city  here, 

Who  seek  a  better  land. 

xvn. 

So  ends  my  lay,  good  Christians  ; 

And  ye  that  gave  me  ear, 
Confess  that  'twas  of  Holy-Land, 

I  beckoned  ve  to  hear  : 


46  DKEAMLAXD. 

Christ  bring  us  all,  who  bear  His  cross 

Unto  His  own  countree ! 
And  so  no  more,  good  Christians, 

Of  Dreamland,  or  of  me. 


€  arnL 


My  Beloved  is  gone  down  into  His  garden,  to  the  beds  of  spices,  to  feed 
in  the  gardens,  and  to  gather  lilies. — Canticles. 


KNOW— I  know 

Where  the  green  leaves  grow, 

When  the  woods  without  are  bare 
Where  a  sweet  perfume 
Of  the  woodland's  bloom, 
Is  afloat  on  the  winter  air ! 
When  tempest  strong 
Hath  howled  along, 

With  his  war-whoop  wild  and  loud, 


48  CAROL. 

Till  the  broad  ribs  broke 
Of  the  forest  oak, 

And  his  crown  of  glory  bowed  ; 
I  know — I  know 
Where  the  green  leaves  grow, 

Though  the  groves  without  are  bare. 
Where  the  branches  nod, 
Of  the  trees  of  God, 

And  wild  vines  nourish  fair. 


For  a  fragrant  crown 
When  the  Lord  conies  down, 

Of  the  deathless  green  we  braid, 
O'er  the  altar  bright, 
Where  the  tissue  white 

Like  winter  snow  is  laid, 
And  we  think  'tis  meet 
The  Lord  to  greet 

As  wise  men  did  of  old, 
With  the  spiceries 
Of  incense-trees, 

And  hearts  like  the  hoarded  gold. 
And  so  we  shake 
The  snowv  flake 


CAEOL.  4:9 


From  cedar  and  myrtle  fair ; 
And  the  boughs  that  nod 
On  the  hills  of  God, 

We  raise  to  His  glory  there. 


m. 

I  know — I  know 
Where  blossoms  blow 

The  earliest  of  the  year ; 
Where  the  passion-flower 
With  a  mystic  power, 

Its  thorny  crown  doth  rear  ; 
Where  crocus  breathes, 
And  fragrant  wreaths 

Like  a  censer  fill  the  gale  ; 
Where  cowslips  burst 
To  beauty  first, 

And  the  lily  of  the  vale  : 
And  snow-drops  white ; 
And  pansies  bright 

As  Joseph's  coloured  vest ; 
And  laurel-tod 
From  the  woods  of  God, 

Where  the  wild-bird  builds  her  nest. 
1 


50  CAEOL. 


IV. 


For,  oh  !  we  fling 
Each  fragrant  thing 

In  the  path  of  the  newly-wed  ; 
And,  when  we  weep, 
Put  flowers  to  sleep, 

On  the  breast  of  the  early  dead. 
And  the  altar's  lawn, 
At  morning's  dawn, 

We  deck  at  Easter-tide, 
And  the  font's  fair  brim ; 
To  tell  of  Him 

Who  liveth  though  He  died ! 
Of  flowers  he  spake  ; 
And  for  His  sake 

Whose  text  was  the  lilies'  bloom, 
We  search  abroad 
For  the  flowers  of  God, 

To  give  Him  their  sweet  perfume. 


I  know — I  know 
Where  the  waters  flow 

In  a  marble  font  and  nook. 


CAROL.  51 


When  the  frosty  sprite 
In  his  strange  delight 

Hath  fettered  the  brawling  brook 
When  the  dancing  stream 
With  its  broken  gleam, 

Is  locked  in  its  rocky  bed  ; 
And  the  sing-song  fret 
Of  the  rivulet 

Is  hush  as  the  melted  lead  ; 
Oh  then  I  know 
Where  the  waters  now 

As  fresh  as  the  spring-time  flood, 
When  the  spongy  sod 
Of  the  fields  of  God 

And  the  hedges  are  all  in  bud. 


VI. 

For  the  flowing  Font 
Bids  Frost  avaunt, 

And  the  Winter's  troop  so  wild  ; 
And  still  'twill  gush 
In  a  free  full  flush, 

At  the  cry  of  a  little  child. 
Oh  rare  the  gleam 
Of  the  blessed  stream 


CAROL. 

In  the  noon  of  a  winter  day, 
When  the  ruby  stain 
Of  the  coloured  pane, 

Falls  in,  with  holy  ray ! 
For  then  I  think 
Of  the  brimming  brink, 

And  the  urns,  at  the  voice  divine, 
Like  Moses'  rod 
And  the  rocks  of  God, 

That  flushed  into  ruddy  wine. 

vn. 

I  know — I  know 
No  place  below, 

Like  the  home  I  fear  and  love  ; 
Like  the  stilly  spot 
Where  the  world  is  not, 

But  the  nest  of  the  Holy  Dove. 
For  there  broods  He 
'Mid  every  tree 

That  grows  at  the  Christmas-tide, 
And  there,  all  year, 
O'er  the  font  so  clear, 

His  hovering  wings  abide  ! 
And  so,  I  know 
~No  place  below 


CAUOL.  53 


So  meet  for  the  bard's  true  lay, 
As  the  alleys  broad 
Of  the  Church  of  God, 

Where  Xature  is  green  for  aye. 


?iV\,^^€ 


y^o 


ITammi 


FOR    THE  LENTEN  SEASON. 


And  of  some,  have  compassion. — St.  Jude. 


H  weep  for  them  who  never  knew 
The  mother  of  our  love, 
J  And  shed  thy  tears  for  orphan  ones 
Whom  angels  mourn  above ; 
The  wandering  sheep — the  straying 
lambs, 
When  wolves  were  on  the  wold, 
That  left  our  Shepherd's  little  flock, 
And  ventured  from  His  fold. 


n. 


Nay,  blame  them  not !  for  them  the  Lord 
Hath  loved  as  well  as  you : 


LAMENT.  55 

But  oli,  like  Jesus  pray  for  them 

Who  know  not  what  they  do  : 
Oh  plead,  as  once  the  Saviour  did, 

That  we  may  all  be  One, 
That  so  the  blinded  world  may  know 

The  Father  sent  the  Son. 

m. 

Oh  let  thy  Lenten  litanies 

Be  full  of  prayer  for  them  ! 
Oh  go  ye  to  the  scattered  sheep 

Of  Israel's  parent  stem  ! 
Oh  keep  thy  fast  for  Christendom  ! 

For  Christ's  dear  body  mourn  ; 
And  weave  again  the  seamless  robe, 

That  faithless  friends  have  torn. 

rv. 

Ye  love  your  dear  home-festivals 

With  every  month  entwined  ; 
Oh  weep  for  those  whose  sullen  hearths 

No  Christmas  garlands  bind  ! 
Those  Iceland  regions  of  the  Faith 

No  changing  seasons  cheer, 
While  our  sweet  paths  drop  fruitfulness, 

Through  all  the  joyous  year. 


56  LAMEXT. 

V. 

What  though  some  borealis-beains 

On  Arctic  night  may  flare  ! 
Pray  God  the  sunlight  of  His  love 

May  rise  serenely  there. 
For  fitful  flames,  oh  plead  the  Loed 

To  give  His  daily  ray, 
With  manna  dropped,  at  morn  and  eve, 

Along  their  desert  way. 

VI. 

Oh  weep  for  those,  on  whom  the  Loed 

While  here  below  did  weep, 
Lest  grievous  wolves  should  enter  in, 

Not  sparing  of  His  sheep  ; 
And  eat  thy  bitter  herbs  awhile, 

That  when  our  Feast  is  spread, 
These  too — that  gather  up  the  crumbs, 

May  eat  the  children's  bread. 


(Kmfor-|)rag*r8, 


ET  out  thy  soul,  and  pray ! 
Not  for  thy  home  alone  ; 
J  Away  in  prayer,  away  ! 

Make  all  the  world  thine  own. 
Let  out  thy  soul  in  prayer  ; 
Oh,  let  thy  spirit  grow ! 
God  gives  thee  sun  and  air, 
Let  the  full  blossom  blow ! 


n. 
There  !  dost  thou  not  perceive 

Thy  spirit  swell  within, 
And  something  high  receive, 

That  is  not  born  of  sin  ? 
8 


58 


EMBEE-PEAYEE3 


Oh,  paltry  is  the  soul 
That  only  self  can  heed  ! 

Sail  outward — from  the  shoal, 
And  bourgeon,  from  the  seed  ! 


m. 

Rust  and  the  moth  consume 

The  spangled  folds  of  pride  ; 
Dry-rot  doth  eat  the  bloom, 

And  gnaw  the  wealth  we  hide 
The  spirit's  selfish  care 

Doth  die  away  the  same  ; 
But  give  it  air — free  air, 

And  how  the  soul  can  flame ! 


IV. 

Yestreen  I  did  not  know 

How  largely  I  could  live ; 
But  Faith  hath  made  me  grow 

To  more  than  Earth  can  give. 
Joy !  for  a  heart  released 

From  littleness  and  pride ; 
Fast  is  the  spirit's  feast, 

And  Lent  the  soul's  high  tide. 


EMBER-PRAYERS.  59 


When  for  the  Church  I  prayed, 

As  this  dear  Lent  began, 
My  thoughts,  I'm  sore  afraid, 

Within  small  limits  ran. 
By  Ember-week  I  learned 

How  large  that  prayer  might  be, 
And  then,  in  soul,  I  burned 

That  all  might  pray  with  me. 

VI. 

Plead  for  the  victims  all 

Of  heresy  and  sect ; 
And  bow  thy  knees  like  Paul, 

For  all  the  Lord's  Elect ! 
Pray  for  the  Church — I  mean, 

For  Shem  and  Japhet  pray : 
And  Churches,  long  unseen, 

In  isles,  and  far  away ! 

vu. 

Oh  pray  that  all  who  err 
May  thus  be  gathered  in, 

The  Moslem  worshipper, 
And  all  the  sects  of  sin  ! 


60  EHBEE-PEAYEES. 

For  all  who  love  in  heart 


But  have  not  found  the  way, 
Pray — and  thy  tears  will  start ! 
'Twas  so  the  Loed  did  pray. 

vm. 

Now — even  for  heartless  Eome 

Appealing  to  the  Loed, 
Be  every  Church  our  home, 

And  love  the  battle-word  ! 
The  saints'  communion — one, 

One  Lord — one  Faith — one  birth, 
Oh,  pray  to  God  the  Son, 

For  all  His  Church  on  Earth. 


(Englanb. 


The  glory  of  children  are  their  fathers. — Proverbs. 


n  ^  \    AND  of  tlie  rare  old  chronicle, 
The  legend  and  the  lay. 


Cj  Where  deeds  of  fancy's  dream  are  truth 
|||j        Of  all  thine  ancient  day ; 
;  SJ^^^Bji  Land  where  the  holly-bough  is  green 
^IL  Around  the  Druid's  pile, 

And  greener  yet  the  histories 
That  wreathe  his  rugged  isle  ; 


62  ENGLAND. 


Land  of  old  story — like  thine  oak 

The  aged,  but  the  strong, 
And  wound  with  antique  mistletoe 

And  ivy- wreaths  of  song ; 
Old  isle  and  glorious — I  have  heard 

Thy  fame  across  the  sea, 
And  know  my  fathers'  homes  are  thine ; 

My  fathers  rest  with  thee  ! 

in. 

I  know  they  sleep  in  hallowed  ground 

Beneath  the  church's  shade, 
AY  here  ring  old  bells  eternally, 

For  prayer  incessant  made. 
Xor  dull  their  ear  to  living  prayers, 

Xor  vain  the  anthem's  swell ; 
Where  Christian  sounds  are  lulling  him, 

The  Christian  slumbers  well. 

IV. 

And  I  could  yet  my  dost  lay  down 
Beneath  old  England's  sward, 

For,  lulled  by  her,  'twere  sweet  to  wait 
The  coming  of  the  Lord : 


'. '■: 


vasht  x*  me! 


z'—i    '  '.'.:• 


r\:...^:;r 


:: Sv  — 


-„:.:;  zie. 
From  Cumberland  to  Kent, 
TUth  hilk  and  yaks  ©f  household  name 

1  woods  of  wild  event : 
For  tales  of  Guy  and  Eobm  Hood 

11-  ."_:!.".    :•:•:  r.r\:     .v.".  ".  ::f. 
Al  .:  _LlrTr-..^  -_■.  r:  ?:   77  :    -.:-:  I 
Z-7  '.•.7_.«.'l  :     :L-  "_;-?-r. 


64  ENGLAND. 

VII. 

And  I  have  lived  my  student  years 

On  Isis'  wizard  side, 
In  sooth,  no  candidate,  I  ween, 

For  Alma-Mater's  pride ; 
For  fancy  that  could  awe  my  soul 

To  surplice,  hood,  and  gown, 
Hath  mingled  me  in  college  freaks, 

And  quarrels  with  the  Town. 

vin. 

Dear  happy  homes  !  where  others  slight 

The  boon  my  soul  had  prized, 
The  cells  where  sages  have  been  bred, 

And  human  lore  baptized  ! 
Those  walks  of  towering  Magdalene 

Those  Christ  Church  meads  so  fair, 
St.  Mary's  spire — chime  answering  chime, 

And  early  bell  for  prayer ! 

IX. 

Oh  shame,  ye  yawning  Baliol  men 
Who  hate  the  prayer-bell's  toll, 

That  I,  a  far-off  stranger  wight, 
Should  love  it  in  my  soul ; 


ENGLAND.  65 

That  oft  the  Mantuan's  hackneyed  verse 

Revives  at  thought  of  you ; 
Oh,  happiest  of  the  happy — ye, 

If  but  your  bliss  ye  knew ! 


In  day-dreams  of  the  roving  wish, 

The  Cherwell's  banks  I've  trod  ; 
Have  pulled  an  oar  on  Isis'  tide, 

Or  strayed  with  gun  and  rod ; 
Have  taken  rooms,  burglarious  thought ! 

Called  quiet  Corpus  mine  ; 
And  won  a  prize  ;  ye  double-firsts, 

Forgive  the  bold  design  ! 


XI 

It  ne'er  can  be — but,  fancy-free, 

To  live  in  one's  desire, 
To  catch  from  dreams  what  real  life 

In  Oxford  would  inspire ; 
This  use  of  fancy  have  I  made 

Forbidden  else  to  roam, 
Till  England  is  a  home  to  me, 

Besides  my  native  home. 
9 


66  ENGLAND. 


XII. 


Fair  isle  !  Thy  Dove's  wild  dale  along 

With  Walton  have  I  roved, 
And  London  too,  with  all  the  heart 

Of  burly  Johnson,  loved  : 
Chameleon-like,  my  soul  has  ta'en 

It  every  hue  from  thine, 
From  Eastcheap's  epidemic  laugh 

To  Avon's  gloom  divine. 


xni. 


All  thanks  to  pencil,  and  the  page 

Of  graver's  mimic  art, 
That  England's  panorama  gave 

To  picture  up  my  heart ; 
That  round  my  spirit's  eye  hath  built 

Thine  old  cathedral  piles, 
And  flung  the  chequered  window-light 

Adown  their  trophied  aisles. 

xrv. 

I  know  thine  abbey,  Westminster, 
As  sea-birds  know  their  nest, 

And  flies  my  home-sick  soul  to  thee, 
"When  it  would  find  a  rest ; 


EXGLAXD.  67 

Where  princes  and  old  bishops  sleep, 

With  sceptre  and  with  crook, 
And  mighty  spirits  haunt  around 

Each  Gothic  shrine  and  nook. 


xv. 

I  feel  the  sacramental  hue 

Of  choir  and  chapel,  there, 
And  pictured  panes  that  chasten  down 

The  day's  unholy  glare ; 
And  dear  it  is,  on  cold  gray  stone, 

To  see  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
In  long-drawn  lines  of  coloured  light 

That  streak  the  bannered  wall. 


XVI. 

I  hear  the  priest's  far-dying  chaunt. 

The  organ's  thunder-roll ; 
I  kneel  me  on  the  chilly  floor, 

And  pray  with  all  my  soul ; 
I  feel  that  God  Himself  is  there, 

And  saints  are  sleeping  round  ; 
Oh,  save  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 

'Tis  Earth's  most  holy  ground  ! 


68  ENGLAND. 


xvn. 

Thus,  Albion,  have  I  lived  with  thee, 

Though  born  so  far  away ; 
With  thee  I  spend  each  holy  eve, 

And  every  festal  day. 
My  Sunday  morn  is  musical, 

With  England's  steeple-tone ; 
And  when  thy  Christmas  hearths  are  bright, 

A  blaze  is  on  my  own. 

XVIII. 

What  though  upon  thy  dear  green  hills 

My  footsteps  never  trod  ; 
Thine  empire  is  as  far  and  wide 

As  all  the  world  of  God  ! 
And  by  the  sea-side  glorious 

Have  I  been  wont  to  stand, 
For  Ocean  is  old  England's  own, 

Where'er  it  beats  the  land. 

XIX. 

I've  seen  thy  beacon-banners  blaze 

Our  mountain  coast  along, 
And  swelled  my  soul  with  memories 

Of  old  romaunt  and  song  : 


EXGLAXD.  M) 


Of  Chevy-chase,  of  Agincourt, 
Of  many  a  field  tliey  told  ; 

Of  Xorman  and  Plantagenet, 
And  all  their  fame  of  old  ! 


xx. 

What  though  the  red-cross  blazonry 

"Waved  fast  and  far  away ; 
Not  so  the  ilourished  vaunt  it  flung 

Of  Coeur-de-Lion's  day ; 
Xot  so  the  golden  tales  it  told 

Of  crown  and  kingdom  won, 
And  how  my  own  forefathers  fought 

For  Cheist,  at  Ascalon. 


XXI. 

And  well  thy  banner-folds  may  bear 

In  red — the  Holy  Rod, 
Thy  priests  have  princes  been  to  men, 

Thy  princes,  priests  to  God  ! 
And  bold  to  win  a  crown  in  heaven 

The  Royal  Martyr  bled  ; 
The  martyrs'  noble  host  is  full 

Of  England's  noblest  dead. 


TO  ENGLAND. 

xxn. 

Thy  holy  Church— the  Church  of  God 

That  hath  grown  old  in  thee, 
Since  there  the  ocean-roving  Dove 

Came  bleeding  from  the  sea ; 
TVlien  pierced  afar,  her  weary  feet 

Could  find  no  home  but  thine, 
Until  thine  altars  were  her  nest, 

Thy  fanes  her  glory's  shrine  ; 

xxm. 

At  least  that  holy  Church  is  mine  ! 

And  every  hallowed  day, 
I  bend  where  England's  anthems  swell, 

And  hear  old  England  pray  : 
And  England's  old  adoring  rites, 

And  old  liturgic  words, 
Are  mine — but  not  for  England's  sake ; 

I  love  them  as  the  Lobd's  ! 

xxrv. 

And  I  have  sung.     By  Babel's  stream 
The  Hebrew's  harp  was  still, 

For  there,  there  was  no  God  for  him, 
Xo  shrine  and  holy  hill : 


ENGLAND.  71 

But  here,  by  Hudson's  glorious  wave, 

A  song  of  thee  I'll  sound, 
For  England's  sons  and  spires  are  here, 

And  England's  God  around. 


Cfranicics. 


I. 


THE   STORY    OF  SOME   RUINS. 


HE  abbeys  and  the  arches, 
The  old  cathedral  piles, 
Oh,  weep  to  see  the  ivy 

And  the  grass  in  all  their  aisles  ; 
The  vaulted  roof  is  fallen, 
And  the  bat  and  owl  repose 
AYhere  once  the  people  knelt  them, 
And  the  high  Te  Deoi  rose. 


CHBOXICLES  To 

n. 

Oh,  were  they  not  our  Father's  ! 

Was  not  his  honour  there  ! 
Or  hath  the  Loed  deserted 

His  holy  House  of  Prayer  ! 
Time  was,  when  they  were  sacred 

As  the  place  of  Jacob's  rest, 
And  their  altars  all  as  spotless 

As  the  Yirgin  Mother's  breast. 

ni. 

Oh,  wo  !  the  hour  that  brought  him, 

The  Roman  and  his  reign, 
To  shed  o'er  all  our  temples 

The  scarlet  hue  and  stain  : 
Till  the  mitre  and  the  crosier 

Were  dizen'd  o'er  with  gems, 
And  sullied  with  the  tinsel 

Of  the  Caesars'  diadems. 

IV. 

But  still  our  Father  loved  us  ; 

And  the  Holy  Place  had  still 
Its  beauty,  and  its  glory, 

On  its  old  eternal  hill. 
10 


74  CHKONICLES. 

His  heritage  they  trampled, 
Those  men  of  iron  rod  ! 

But  still  it  towered  in  honour, 
The  temple  of  our  God. 


II. 


MARTYRS   REFORM    THE    CHURCH. 


E  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 
Ye  old  cathedral  piles, 
-  The  martyrs'  noble  army 

Are  in  your  hallowed  aisles. 
'And  the  bishop  and  the  baron 
Have  knelt  together  there, 
And  breathed  a  vow  to  heaven. 
In  agony  of  prayer. 


And  to  chase  away  the  tyrant 
From  England's  happy  home, 

They  have  risen  like  their  fathers, 
'Gainst  the  cruel  hordes  of  Rome  ; 


70  CHRONICLES. 

For  oil  they  love  the  temples 
TThere  virgin  Faith  has  trod, 

Though  all  too  long  within  them 
Man  showed  himself  as  God. 

ni. 

Ye  abbeys  and  ye  arches. 

Ye  old  cathedral  piles. 
Again  a  holy  incen-e 

Is  in  your  vaulted  aisle-  ! 
Again  in  noble  English 

The  Christian  anthems  swell, 
And  out  the  organ  pealeth, 

Over  stream  and  stilly  dell. 

rv. 

And  the  bishop,  and  the  deacon, 

And  the  presbyter  are  there. 
In  pure  and  stainless  raiment, 

At  Eucharist  and  prayer  : 
And  the  bells  swing  free  and  merry. 

And  a  nation  shouteth  round, 
For  the  Loud  Himself  hath  triumphed, 

And  His  voice  is  in  the  sound. 


CHRONICLES. 


i  i 


III. 


BUT  REGICIDES   MAKE  DISSENT. 


E  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 
Ye  old  cathedrals  blest, 
i {^   Be  strong  against  the  earthquake, 
And  the  days  of  yonr  unrest ; 
For  not  the  haughty  Roman 
Could  make  old  England  bow, 
But  the  children  of  her  bosom 
Are  the  foes  that  trouble  now. 


n. 


A  gleam  is  in  the  abbey, 
And  a  sound  ariseth  there  ; 

'Tis  not  the  light  of  worship, 
'Tis  not  the  voice  of  prayer  : 


78  CHRONICLES. 

Their  hands  are  red  with  murder, 
And  a  prince's  fall  they  sing  ! 

They  would  slay  the  Lord  of  glory 
Should  He  come  again  as  King. 

m. 

And  a  lawless  soldier  tramples 

Where  the  holy  loved  to  kneel, 
And  he  spurns  a  bishop's  ashes 

With  his  ruffian  hoof  of  steel : 
Ay,  horses  have  they  stabled 

"Where  the  blessed  martyrs  knelt, 
That  neigh — where  rose  the  anthem, 

And  the  psalm  that  made  us  melt. 


rv. 

There,  once  a  glorious  window 

Shed  down  a  flood  of  rays, 
With  rainbow  hues  and  holy, 

And  colours  all  ablaze  : 
Its  pictured  panes  are  broken, 

Our  fathers'  tombs  profaned, 
And  the  font  where  we  were  christened, 

With  the  blood  of  brothers  stained. 


CHRONICLES. 


79 


IV. 


AND    FULFIL    THE   SEVENTY-FOURTH  P SAL 21. 


X 


E  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 
Ye  old  cathedrals  dear, 
^  The    hearts    that  love   you  trem- 
ble, 
And  your  enemies  have  cheer  ; 
But  the  prayers  ye  heard  are  breathing, 

And  your  litanies  they  sing  ; 
There  are  holy  men  in  England 
That  are  praying  for  their  king. 


n. 


The  noble  in  the  cottage, 
"While  the  hind  is  in  hi&  hall, 


80  CHKOXICLES. 

Still  kneels,  as  if  lie  heard  thera, 

When  jour  chimes  were  wont  to  call : 

And  at  morning,  and  at  evening, 
There  are  high-born  hearts  and  trne, 

In  the  lowliest  huts  of  England, 
That  will  bless  the  king,  and  yon. 

m. 

And  bishops,  in  their  prison, 

Will  still  the  Lessons  read, 
How  the  good  are  often  troubled, 

While  the  vilest  men  succeed  : 
How  God's  own  heart  may  honour 

Whom  the  people  oft  disown, 
And  how  the  royal  David 

Was  driven  from  his  throne. 

rv. 

And  their  Psalter  mourneth  with  them, 

O'er  the  carvings  and  the  grace, 
Which  axe  and  hammer  ruin, 

In  the  fair  and  holy  place ; 
O'er  the  havoc  they  are  making 

In  all  the  land  abroad, 
And  the  banners  of  the  cruel 

In  the  dwelling-house  of  God. 


CHRONICLES. 


31 


BUT    GOD    IS    WITH    US    TO    THE  END. 


E  abbeys  and  ye  arches, 
How  few  and  far  between, 
3  The  remnants  of  your  glory 
^^        In  all  their  pride  are  seen  ! 
A  thousand  fanes  are  fallen, 
And  the  bat  and  owl  repose 
Where  once  the  people  knelt  them, 
And  the  high  Te  Deum  rose. 
]l 


82  CHRONICLES. 

II. 

But  their  dust  and  stones  are  precious 

In  the  eyes  of  pious  men, 
And  the  baron  hath  his  manor, 

And  the  king  his  own  again  ! 
And  again  the  bells  are  ringing 

With  a  free  and  happy  sound, 
And  again  Te  Deum  riseth 

In  all  the  churches  round. 

m. 

Now  pray  we  for  our  mother, 

That  England  long  may  be 
The  holy,  and  the  happy, 

And  the  gloriously  free  ! 
Who  blesseth  her,  is  blessed  ! 

So  peace  be  in  her  walls  ; 
And  joy  in  all  her  palaces, 

Her  cottages  and  halls  ! 

IV. 

All  ye  who  pray  in  English, 
Pray  God  for  England,  pray  ! 

And  chiefly,  thou,  my  country, 
In  thy  young  glory's  day  ! 


CHRONICLES.  83 


Pray  God  those  times  return  not, 
'Tis  England's  hour  of  need  ! 

Pray  for  thy  mother — daughter, 
Plead  God  for  England — plead. 


Cfo  Cljrmes  0f  (Bnjjlantr. 


CHIMES,  the  chimes 
of  Motherland, 
Of  England  green 
and  old, 
That   out   from   fane 
and  ivied  tower 
A   thousand    years 
have  tolled ; 
How    glorious    must 
their  music  be 
As  breaks  the  hal- 
lowed day, 


THE   CHIMES    OF    ENGLAND.  86 

And  calleth  with  a  seraph's  voice 
A  nation  up  to  pray ! 

n. 

Those  chimes  that  tell  a  thousand  tales, 

Sweet  tales  of  olden  time  ; 
And  ring  a  thousand  memories 

At  vesper,  and  at  prime  ! 
At  bridal  and  at  burial, 

For  cottager  and  king, 
Those  chimes — those  glorious  Christian  chimes, 

How  blessedly  they  ring  ! 

in. 

Those  chimes,  those  chimes  of  Motherland, 

Upon  a  Christmas  morn, 
Outbreaking  as  the  angels  did, 

For  a  Redeemer  born  : 
How  merrily  they  call  afar, 

To  cot  and  baron's  hall, 
TVith  holly  decked  and  mistletoe, 

To  keep  the  festival ! 

rv. 

The  chimes  of  England,  how  they  peal 
From  tower  and  gothic  pile, 


86  THE    CHEVIES    OF    ENGLAND. 

Where  hymn  and  swelling  anthem  fill 

The  dim  cathedral  aisle  ; 
Where  windows  bathe  the  holy  light 

On  priestly  heads  that  falls, 
And  stain  the  florid  tracery 

Of  banner-dighted  walls ! 

v. 
And  then,  those  Easter  bells  in  Spring, 

Those  glorious  Easter  chimes  ! 
How  loyally  they  hail  thee  round, 

Old  Queen  of  holy  times  ! 
From  hill  to  hill,  like  sentinels, 

Responsively  they  cry, 
And  sing  the  rising  of  the  Lord, 

From  vale  to  mountain  high. 

IX 

I  love  ye — chimes  of  Motherland, 

With  all  this  soul  of  mine, 
And  bless  the  Lord  that  I  am  sprung 

Of  good  old  English  line  : 
And  like  a  son  I  sing  the  lay 

That  England's  glory  tells  ; 
For  she  is  lovely  to  the  Lord, 

For  you,  ye  Christian  bells ! 


THE    CHIMES    OF    ENGLAND.  87 

YH. 

And  heir  of  all  her  olden  fame, 

Though  far  away  my  birth, 
Thee  too  I  love,  my  Forest-land, 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth  ; 
For  thine  thy  mother's  voice  shall  be, 

And  here — where  God  is  KiDg, 
With  English  chimes,  from  Christian  spires, 

The  wilderness  shall  ring. 


Sratlattir. 

THE    ORANGE   SACRILEGE. 


Though  all  the  nations  that  are  under  the  king's  dominion  obey  him 

and  fall  away,  every  one  from  the  religion  of  their  fathers, God 

forbid  that  we  should  forsake  the  law,  and  the  ordinances !  We  will  not 
hearken  to  the  king's  words  to  go  from  our  religion,  either  on  the  right 
hand  or  the  left. — Maccabees. 


WAS  a  true-hearted  Scotsman 
Had  risen  from  his  knees, 

All  in  a  glorious  chapel 
Reared  by  the  old  Culdees. 

That  day  the  axe  of  Orange 


On  Scotland's  altars  rung, 
And  down  fair  cross  and  crosier 
Upon  the  Earth  were  flung. 


n. 


And  as  he  rose  from  praying 
The  raving  mob  broke  in  ; 


SCOTLAND.  50 

And  as  he  passed  the  portal, 

He  heard  the  spoiler's  din. 
He  beat  his  breast — and  tear-drops 

They  stood  in  either  eye  : 
He  left  that  church  forever,  ' 

But  thus  did  prophesy. 

in." 

Ah  me — St.  Andrew's  crosier  ! 

'Tis  broken  and  laid  low : 
God  help  thee,  Church  of  Scotland, 

It  seemeth  thy  death  blow  ! 
They've  robbed  thee  of  thine  altars, 

They've  ta'en  thine  ancient  name  ; 
But  thou'rt  the  Church  of  Scotland 

Till  Scotland  melts  in  flame. 

rv. 

Ay — hear  it,  heartless  William, 

Thou  shalt  have  ne'er  a  son  ! 
Thy  tree — it  shall  be  blighted, 

For  this  that  thou  hast  done  : 
Thine  orange-bough,  in  Britain, 

Shall  leave  nor  branch  nor  shoot, 
For  God  uproots  the  sovereign 

That  would  His  Church  uproot. 
12 


90  SCOTLAND. 


A j — grasp  old  Scotia's  thistle, 

Thy  daring  hand  must  bleed  : 
But  touch  the  cross  of  Andrew, 

Thy  soul  shall  rue  the  deed  ! 
Unroof  the  Church  of  Scotland, 

She  lives  in  dens  and  caves ; 
She  cries  to  God,  and  tyrants 

Are  ashes,  in  their  graves. 

VI. 

And  thou,  old  Church,  like  princes 

When  clowns  usurp  their  state, 
Shalt  be  contest,  in  exile, 

The  ancient  and  the  great ! 
JSTot  she  that  thus  usurpeth 

Can  boast  one  grace  of  thine  ; 
That  grace — it  cometh  only 

Of  Apostolic  line. 

VII. 

Then  leave  to  grim  Genevans 
Cathedral  choir  and  aisle, 

Let  psalms  of  Covenanters 
Be  quavered  there  awhile  ! 


SCOTLAND.  91 


The  very  stones  shall  flout  them, 
In  beauty  built,  and  might, 

For  apostolic  service, 
And  high  liturgic  rite. 


vm. 

And  thou,  true  Church  of  Scotland, 

Cast  down,  shalt  not  despair  ; 
When  dowered  wives  are  barren, 

The  desolate  shall  bear  ; 
Thy  sons — they  shall  be  princes, 

To  take  their  fathers'  stead, 
And  shame  the  Church  whose  portion 

Is  proud,  and  full  of  bread. 


IX. 

"When  o'er  the  western  waters 

They  seek  for  crook  and  key, 
The  Loed  shall  make  like  Hannah's 

Thy  poor  and  low  degree  ! 
Thou  o'er  new  worlds  the  sceptre 

Of  Shiloh  shalt  extend, 
And  see  a  line  of  children 

From  thy  sad  breast  descend. 


92  SCOTLAND. 


And  when,  at  length,  old  Scotland, 

Her  chiefs  and  her  true  men, 
Her  Highlands  and  her  Lowlands 

Shall  find  their  hearts  agen  : 
When  martyr'd  Sharpe  upriseth 

In  spirit  'gainst  his  foes, 
And  souls  are  bred  in  Scotland 

To  match  the  great  Montrose  ; 

XI. 

In  Edin's  high  cathedral, 

!No  more  the  fish- wife's  voice  ; 
In  Glasgow's  crypts  and  cloisters, 

No  more  the  rabble's  choice  ; 
Oh  then  St.  Andrew's  crosier 

Once  more  shall  be  upheld, 
And  the  Culdee  mitre  glisten 

In  Brechin  and  Dunkeld. 

xn. 

See  after  See  uprearing 

Once  more  the  shattered  cross  ; 
Once  more  a  bishop  treading 

The  heathery  braes  of  Ross  ; 


SCOTLAND.  93 


Fair  Elgin's  choir  enfolding 
The  Moray  shepherd's  rest, 

And  Holyrood — from  rains 
Uprising,  bright  and  blest ; 


xin. 

From  Berwick  to  the  Orkneys, 

How  each  old  kirk  shall  gleam 
In  beanty  and  in  brightness, 

With  thy  returning  beam  ! 
One  heart  in  Gael  and  Saxon, 

In  cotter  and  in  thane  ; 
One  creed — one  Church  in  Scotland, 

From  Caithness  to  Dumblane  ! 


XP7. 

Then  faint  not,  Chnrch  of  Scotland  ! 

Thy  beauty  and  thy  worth 
Shall  make  a  new  uprising, 

In  fair  and  sightly  Perth  ; 
"When  shines  in  wild  Glenalmond 

The  dew  of  thy  new  day, 
Again  thy  noon  of  glory 

Shall  glitter  o'er  the  Tay. 


94  SCOTLAND. 

XV. 

Bide  thou  thy  time  in  patience  ! 

The  sons  of  thy  bold  foes 
Shall  build  thine  old  waste  places, 

Dunfermline  and  Melrose. 
Where  now  the  sons  of  havoc 

Upon  thine  altars  tread, 
Thine  own  Liturgic  Service 

Shall  bless  the  Cup  and  Bread. 

XVI. 

Save  only  from  the  spoiler 

That  pure  and  ancient  rite  ! 
In  Scotland's  pure  Oblation 

All  churches  must  unite  : 
And — as  the  Ark  of  Scotland, 

Keep  thou  thy  rightful  name, 
For  thou'rt  the  Church  of  Scotland 

Till  Scotland  melts  in  name  ! 


IN    TRINITY    COLLEGE,    HARTFORD. 


HE  rod  that  from  Jerusalem 
Went  forth  so  strong  of  yore ; 

That  rod  of  David's  royal  stem, 
Whose  hand  the  farthest  bore  I 

St.  Paul  to  seek  the  setting  suu, 
They  say,  to  Britain  prest : 

St.  Andrew  to  old  Caledon : 


But  who  still  further  West  ? 


ii. 


Go  ask  ! — a  thousand  tongues  shall  tell 
His  name  and  dear  renown. 


96 


Where  altar,  font,  and  holy  bell, 

Are  gifts  he  handed  down : 
A  thousand  hearts  keep  warm  the  name, 

Which  share  those  gifts  so  blest ; 
Yet  even  this  may  tell  the  same, 

First  mitre  of  the  West ! 

ni. 

This  mitre  with  its  crown  of  thorn, 

Its  cross  upon  the  front ; 
Not  for  a  proud  adorning  worn, 

But  for  the  battle's  brunt : 
This  helmet — with  Salvation's  sign, 

Of  one  whose  shield  was  faith ; 
This  crown — of  him,  for  right  divine 

Who  battled  unto  death  ! 

rv. 

Oh  !  keep  it — till  the  moth  shall  wear 

Its  comeliness  to  dust, 
Type  of  a  crown  that's  laid  up  where 

There  is  nor  moth  nor  rust ; 
Type  of  the  Lord's  commission  given 

To  this,  our  Western  shore  ; 
The  rod  of  Christ — the  keys  of  heaven, 

Through  one,  to  thousands  more. 


seabury's  mitre.  97 


They  tell  how  Scotia  keeps  with  awe 

Her  old  Regalia  bright, 
Sign  of  her  independent  law, 

And  prond  imperial  right ; 
But  keep  this  too  for  Scotland's  boast ; 

'Twill  tell  of  better  things, 
When  long  old  Scotia  shall  have  lost 

Those  gewgaws  of  her  kings. 

TI. 

And  keep  it  for  this  mighty  "West 

Till  truth  shall  glorious  be, 
And  good  old  Samuel's  is  confest 

Columbia's  primal  see. 
'Tis  better  than  a  diadem, 

The  crown  that  bishop  wore, 
Whose  hand  the  rod  of  David's  stem 

The  furthest  Westward  bore. 


13 


Rustic  Chunks. 

ST.    GABRIEL'S,    WINDSOR,    CONNECTICUT. 


ES — 'tis  the  village-joiner's  work, 

With  but  his  axe  and  saw : 
l\o  Wykeham  was  the  humble  clerk 

That  such  a  plan  could  draw ! 
'Tis  what  a  rural  parish  could, 
With  what  its  farms  supplied  ; 
Not  what  in  mind  and  heart  they  would, 
Had  they  the  gold  beside. 


ii. 


Yet  hath  it  merit — in  the  eye 
That  can,  by  fancy's  aid, 

What  time  can  only  give,  supply, 
Of  shrubbery  and  shade. 


RUSTIC   CHURCHES.  99 

Add  but  of  ancient  elms  a  score, 


Those  nndissenting  trees, 
And  he  that  passeth  by  shall  pore, 
Well-pleased,  on  what  he  sees. 


m. 

Its  merit,  first,  is — what  'tis  not ; 

That  hippogriff  of  art, 
By  crude  Genevan  rites  begot, 

Half  temple,  and  half  mart : 
Nor  yet  that  type  of  changing  shifts, 

A  hall  low-roofed  and  tinn'd 
On  which  a  wooden  Babel  lifts 

Its  weather-cock  to  wind. 


IV. 

Nor  does  it  bring  those  shaggy  curs 

Instinctively  to  mind, 
With  forward  parts  adorned  in  furs, 

But  shaven  close  behind  ; 
Like  many  a  pine-wood  parody 

Of  Parthenon  or  Pnyx, 
Which  oft,  as  frontispiece,  we  see, 

To  chapel  built  of  bricks. 


100  RUSTIC   CHURCHES. 

V. 

Again — as  country  parsons  speak, 

Some  merit  it  may  claim 
In  that  it  dares  to  look  antique, 

In  colour  and  in  frame. 
And  then,  no  passer-by  can  doubt 

Its  spiritual  kin, 
For  oh,  it  tells  the  truth,  without, 

Of  what  it  is,  within  ! 

VI. 

All  that  the  Church  requires  it  hath, 

Chancel,  and  porch,  and  nave, 
A  sacristy,  and  holy  bath 

The  sinner's  soul  to  lave  : 
And  in  the  baptist'ry,  a  well ; 

O'er-head,  an  open  roof; 
A  gable-cot  to  hold  the  bell ; 

The  cross — a  church's  proof ! 

vn. 

So  once — where  now  St.  Joseph's  thorn 
Blooms  by  an  abbey's  towers, 

Stood  the  poor  Briton's  church,  forlorn, 
And  ruder  far  than  ours  ! 


RUSTIC   CHURCHES.  101 

Nor  here  the  faithful  eye  shall  fail 

The  brightening  view  to  catch, 
That  opened  from  that  structure  frail 

Of  wicker-work  and  thatch. 

YIII. 

For  dear  is  even  the  first  rude  art 

"Which  holy  Faith  inspires  ! 
The  whole  is  augured  from  the  part, 

Achievements — from  desires. 
At  least  such  churches  symbolize 

The  place  where  Christ  was  born  ; 
And  mangers  may  to  minsters  rise, 

As  noontide  from  the  morn. 


«^.~i 


Cljurrjrprbs, 

ST.    GEORGE'S,    HEMPSTEAD. 


XEYEE  can  see  a  churchyard  old, 

With  its  mossy  stones  and  mound-. 
And  green-trees  weeping  the  nnforgot 

That  rest  in  its  hallowed  hounds  ; 
I  never  can  see  the  old  churchyard. 
But  I  breathe  to  God  a  prayer, 
That,  sleep  as  I  may  in  this  fevered  life, 
I  may  rest  when  I  slumber  there. 


Our  mother,  the  Earth,  hath  a  cradle-bed 

Where  she  gathereth  sire  and  son, 
And  the  old-world's  fathers  are  pillowed  there, 


Her  children,  every  one. 


CHURCH  YARDS.  103 

And  her  cradle  it  liatli  a  dismal  name. 


When  riseth  the  banquet's  din, 
And  pale  is  the  cheek  at  dance  or  wine, 
If  a  song  of  its  sleep  break  in. 


ni. 

But  our  mother  the  Church  hath  a  gentle  nest, 

Where  the  Lord's  dear  children  lie, 
And  its  name  is  sweet  to  a  Christian  ear, 

As  a  motherly  lullaby. 
Oh  the  green  churchyard,  the  green  churchyard 

Is  the  couch  she  spreads  for  all ; 
And  she  layeth  the  cottager's  baby  there, 

With  the  lord  of  the  tap'stry  hall. 


IV. 

Our  mother  the  Church  hath  never  a  child 

To  honour  before  the  rest, 
But  she  singeth  the  same  for  mighty  kings 

And  the  veriest  babe  on  her  breast ; 
And  the  bishop  goes  down  to  his  narrow  bed 

As  the  ploughman's  child  is  laid, 
And  alike  she  blesseth  the  dark-browed  serf 

And  the  chief  in  his  robe  arrayed. 


104  CHURCHYARDS. 


She  sprinkles  the  drops  of  the  bright  new-birth 

The  same  on  the  low  and  high, 
And  christens  their  bodies  with  dust  to  dust, 

^Ylien  earth  with  its  earth  must  lie ; 
Oh  the  poor  man's  friend  is  the  Church  of  Christ 

From  birth  to  his  funeral  day ; 
She  makes  him  the  Lord's,  in  her  surpliced  arms, 

And  singeth  his  burial  lay. 

YI. 

And  ever  the  bells  in  the  green  churchyard 

Are  tolling,  to  tell  ye  this  ; 
Go  pray  in  the  church,  while  pray  ye  can, 

That  so  ye  may  sleep  in  bliss. 
And  wise  is  he  in  the  glow  of  life, 

vTho  weaveth  his  shroud  of  rest, 
And  graveth  it  plain  on  his  coffin-plate, 

That  the  dead  in  Christ  are  blest. 

rn. 

I  never  can  see  a  green  churchyard 

But  I  think  I  may  slumber  there, 
And  I  wonder  within  me  what  strange  disease 

Shall  bring  me  to  homes  so  fair  ; 


CHUECHYABDS.  105 

And  whether  in  breast,  in  brain,  or  blood, 

There  lnrketh  a  secret  sore, 
Or  whether  this  heart,  so  warm  and  full, 

Hath  a  worm  at  its  inmost  core. 


Tin. 


For  I  know,  ere  long,  some  limb  of  mine 

To  the  rest  may  traitor  prove, 
And  steal,  froru  the  strong  young  frame  I  wear, 

The  generous  flush  I  love  : 
I  know  I  may  bnrn  into  ashes  soon,      * 

TTith  this  feverish  flame  of  life  ; 
Or  the  flickering  lamp  may  soon  blaze  out, 

"With  its  dying  self  at  strife. 


IX. 

And  here — I  think — when  they  lay  me  down 

How  strange  will  my  slumber  be, 
The  cold  cold  clay  for  my  dreamless  head, 

And  the  turf  for  my  canopy ; 
How  stilly  will  creep  the  long  long  years 

O'er  my  quiet  sleep  away, 
And  oh  what  a  waking  that  sleep  shall  know, 

At  the  peal  of  the  Judgment-day  ! 
14 


106  CHURCHYARDS. 


Up — up  from  the  graves  and  the  clods  around 

The  quickened  bones  will  stare ; 
I  know  that  within  this  green  churchyard 

A  host  shall  be  born  to  air  ; 
A  thousand  shall  struggle  to  earth  ao;en, 

From  under  the  sods  I  tread : 
Oh,  strange — thrice  strange,  shall  the  story  be 

Of  the  field  where  they  lay  the  dead  ! 

XI. 

Oh  bury  me,  then,  in  the  green  churchyard, 

As  my  old  forefathers  rest, 
Nor  lay  me  in  cold  Necropolis, 

'Mid  many  a  grave  unblest ; 
I  would  sleep  where  the  church-bells  aye  ring  out ; 

I  would  rise  by  the  house  of  prayer, 
And  feel  me  a  moment  at  home,  on  earth, 

For  the  Christian's  home  is  there. 

xn. 

I  never  loved  cities  of  living  men, 
And  towns  of  the  dead  I  hate ; 
Oh  let  me  rest  in  the  churchyard  then, 
And  hard  by  the  church's  gate  ; 


CHURCHYARDS.  10' 


'Tis  there  1  pray  to  my  Saviour  Christ 

•  And  I  will,  till  mine  eye  is  dim, 
That,  sleep  as  I  may  in  this  fevered  life, 
I  may  rest,  at  last,  in  Him. 


EASTER     EYEX,     18  40, 


Thy  serrants  think  upon  her  stones,  and  it  pitieth  them  to  see  her  in 
the  dust. — Psaltsr. 


Cms 


7   HE  Paschal  moon  is  ripe  to-night 
On  fair  Manhada's  bay. 
And  soft  it  falls  on  Hoboken, 
As  where  the  Saviour  lav  : 
And  beams,  beneath  whose  paly  shine 
Xile's  troubling  angel  flew, 
Show  many  a  blood-besprinkled  door 
Of  our  Passover  too. 


But  here  where,  many  a  holy  year, 
It  shone  on  arch  and  aisle, 


TEDOTY,  OLD  CHURCH.  109 

What  means  its  cold  and  silver  ray 

On  dust,  and  mined  pile  ? 
Oil  where's  the  consecrated  porch, 

The  sacred  lintel  where, 
And  where's  that  antique  steeple's  height, 

To  bless  the  moonlight  air  ? 

m. 

I  seem  to  miss  a  mothers  face 

In  this  her  wonted  home  ; 
And  linger  in  the  green  churchyard 

As  round  that  mother's  tomb. 
Old  Trinity  !  thou  too  art  gone  ! 

And  in  thine  own  blest  bound, 
They've  laid  thee  low,  dear  mother  church, 

To  rest  in  holy  ground  ! 

IV. 

The  vaulted  roof  that  trembled  oft 

Above  the  chaunted  psalm  ; 
The  quaint  old  altar  where  we  owned 

Our  very  Paschal  Lamb  ; 
The  chimes  that  ever  in  the  tower 

Like  seraph-music  sung, 
And  held  me  spell-bound  in  the  way, 

"When  I  was  very  young  ; 


110  TRINITY,    OLD    CHURCH. 


The  marble  monuments  within 


The  'scutcheons,  old  and  rich  ; 
And  one  bold  bishop's  effigy 

Above  the  chancel-niche ; 
The  mitre  and  the  legend  there 

Beneath  the  coloured  pane ; 
All  these — thou  knewest,  Paschal  moon, 

But  ne'er  shalt  know  again  ! 

VI. 

And  thou  wast  shining  on  this  spot 

That  hour  the  Saviour  rose  ! 
But  oh,  its  look,  that  Easter  morn, 

The  Saviour  only  knows. 
A  thousand  years — and  'twas  the  same, 

And  half  a  thousand  more  ; 
Old  moon,  what  mystic  chronicles 

Thou  keepest,  of  this  shore  ! 

vn. 

And  so  till  good  queen  Anna  reign'd, 

It  was  a  heathen  sward  : 
But  then  they  made  its  virgin  turf 

An  altar  to  the  Lord. 


111 


With  hoi j  roof  they  covered  it ; 

And  when  apostles  came, 
They  claimed,  for  Christ,  its  battlements, 


And  took  it,  in  God's  Name. 


vm. 

Then,  Paschal  moon,  this  sacred  spot 

No  more  thy  magic  felt, 
Till  flames  brought  down  the  holy  place 

Where  our  forefathers  knelt. 
Again,  'tis  down — the  grave  old  pile  : 

That  mother  church  sublime  ! 
Look  on  its  roofless  floor,  old  moon, 

For  'tis  thy  last — last  time  ! 


IX. 

Ay,  look  with  smiles,  for  never  there 

Shines  Paschal  moon  agen, 
Till  breaks  the  Earth's  great  Easter  day 

O'er  all  the  graves  of  men  ! 
So  wane  away,  old  Paschal  moon, 

And  come  next  year  as  bright ; 
Eternal  rock  shall  welcome  thee, 

Our  faith's  devoutest  light ! 


112  TRINITY,    OLD    CHURCH. 


The j  rear  old  Trinity  once  more  : 

And,  if  ye  weep  to  see, 
The  glory  of  this  latter  house, 

Thrice  glorious  shall  be  ! 
Oh  lay  its  deep  foundations  strong, 

And,  yet  a  little  while, 
Our  Paschal  Lamb  Himself  shall  come 

To  light  its  hallowed  aisle. 


^rwitg,  fMxr  Cljuxxlj, 


ASCENSION  DAY,    1846. 


I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours,  and  lay  thy  foundations  with 
sapphires.  And  I  will  make  thy  windows  of  agates  and  thy  gates  of  car- 
buncles, and  all  thy  borders  of  pleasant  stones.  And  all  thy  children  shall 
be  taught  of  the  Lord;  and  great  shall  be  the  peace  of  thy  children. — 
Isaiah. 


IS  raised  in  beauty  from  the  dust, 

And  'tis  a  goodly  pile  ! 
So  takes  our  infant  Church,  I  trust, 

Her  own  true  stamp  and  style. 
As  birds  put  forth  their  own  attire, 
As  shells  o'er  sea-nymphs  grow, 
'Tis  ours — nave,  chancel,  aisle,  and  spire, 
And  not  a  borrowed  show. 
15 


114  TEDOTY,    NEW   CHUECH. 

n. 

Not  this,,  a  church,  without — to  hide 

Conventicle  within ; 
Here  is  no  masquerade  outside 

Of  but  the  lion's  skin  ! 
Xot  this  a  lie  engraved  in  rocks  ! 

'Tis — what  it  shews  abroad, 
A  mountain  piled  in  shapely  blocks, 

And  made  the  House  of  God. 

m. 

'Tis  native  comeliness  !     As  earth 

Puts  forth  her  golden  sheaves, 
As  flowers  mature  their  brilliant  birth 

And  trees  put  on  their  leaves ; 
As  human  flesh  grows  sound  and  fair 

Around  the  human  bone, 
So  doth  the  Church  this  glory  wear, 

And  clothe  herself  in  stone. 

rv. 

How  like  herself  our  mother  seems 
In  this — her  ancient  dress  ! 

TTis  as  a  robe  the  gazer  deems 
Well  worn  bv  loveliness. 


TRINITY,    NEW   CHURCH.  115 

The  clothing  that  befits  a  queen, 

With  ease  and  grace  she  wears  : 
Her  home  attire,  for  daily  scene, 

And  daily  work  of  prayers  ! 


v. 


Not  this  a  Gothic  gazing  stock, 
Where  nought  is  meant  or  to 
Translated  into  solid  rock, 


The  prayer-book's  self  behold  ! 
Sermons  in  stones  !  Yes — more  beside. 

A  language,  and  a  voice  ! 
Much  uttered — but  far  more  implied 

That  makes  the  heart  rejoice. 


VI. 

Without — each  little  carving  speaks 

Of  Christ,  the  Crucified, 
To  Jews  a  stumbling-block,  to  Greeks 

'Tis  foolishness  beside : 
But  oh,  to  all  the  faithful — see, 

From  porch  to  topmost  tower, 
It  telleth  of  the  Trinity, 

And  preacheth  Christ  with  power  ! 


116  TRINITY,    NEW    CHURCH. 

vn. 

Within — behold  the  promised  grace, 

Fair  stones,  and  colours  too, 
To  beautify  the  holy  place, 

And  shed  a  feeling  through  ! 
Windows  of  agates — pictured  sights 

With  floral  borders  bound, 
Yes — pleasant  stones,  and  sapphire  lights 

That  throw  a  glory  round. 

VHT. 

Oh  God,  how  beautiful  and  vast 

Men's  minds  and  fancies  grow, 
When,  in  Thy  mould  of  doctrine  cast, 

Their  warm  ideas  flow  : 
When  'tis  Thy  Church  inspires  the  thought, 

And  forms  the  bold  design, 
Till,  from  a  sullen  rock,  is  wrought 

A  symbol  so  divine ! 

IX. 

But  note  the  better  part,  as  well : 

The  Church's  children  all, 
Called  daily,  by  the  holy  bell, 

To  prayer  and  festival. 


TRINITY,    NEW   CHURCH.  117 

Oh  gather  them  from  far  abroad  ; 

Oh  pray  and  never  cease : 
When  all  thy  sons  are  taught  of  God, 

How  great  shall  be  their  peace  ! 

x. 

Dear  cross  !  hold  fast  thy  height  in  air  : 

Stand  ever  wide,  blest  door ! 
And  ever  crowd,  ye  faithful,  there, 

High,  lowly,  rich,  and  poor  ! 
Sweet  bells  !  ring  ever  your  glad  sound, 

And  let  its  message  be 
Ho  !  ye  that  thirst — here  Christ  is  found, 

And  here  His  home  is  free. 


C{j£  £>pir*-<£rass. 


The  offence  of  the  Cross. — St.  Paul. 


^^ROSS  of  Christ,  Star  of  grace, 
O'er  the  high  and  holy  place, 
Like  the  light  of  Jesu's  face 
So  divine, 
For  love  of  what  thou  art, 
My  best  and  chosen  part, 
I  hail  thee  in  my  heart ; 

Blessed  Sign  ! 


THE    SPIKE-CROSS.  119 


Let  Japanese  and  Jews, 
And  Antichristian  crews, 
The  stumbling-block  refuse 

And  deride  ! 
But  oh  thou  glorious  Tree, 
Bathed  with  Jestt's  blood,  for  me, 
Thou  Cross  of  Calvary, 

Crimson  dyed : 

m. 

Their  souls  have  never  known 
What  comes  by  thee  alone, 
And  their  heart  is  like  a  stone 

In  their  breast ! 
But  mine  the  broken  Bread, 
And  the  Blood  my  Saviour  shed  ; 
And  the  Cross,  on  which  He  bled. 

Is  my  rest. 


IV. 


How  glorious  is  its  form, 
In  the  starlight  or  the  storm, 
In  the  morning,  or  the  warm 


Light  of  noon ; 


120  THE    SPIRE-CROSS. 

It  peereth  in  the  air, 
O'er  the  holy  place  of  prayer, 
And  is  beautiful  and  fair, 
By  the  moon. 


Let  it  be  the  Christian's  boast ; 
Let  it  glitter  from  the  coast ! 
Like  a  watchman,  at  his  post, 

Let  ic  say — 
Here  the  Lord  Jehovah  dwells, 
Here  ring  the  holy  bells, 
Here  the  Church's  service  swells  ; 

Come  and  pray ! 


VI. 

As  the  rent  and  ravelled  rag 
Of  the  soldier's  flying  flag, 
On  the  rampart's  blazing  crag, 

Kouseth  him ; 
It  points  me  to  the  prize, 
And  to  see  it  in  the  skies, 
Brings  the  tear-drops  to  my  eyes, 

And  they  swim. 


THE    SPIKE-CROSS.  121 

vn. 

Like  a  trumpet's  stirring  psalm, 
It  reminds  me  what  I  am, 
A  soldier  of  the  Lamb ! 

And,  right  down, 
My  soul  it  yearns  to  kneel, 
And  renew  my  Saviour's  seal 
That  I  may,  with  newer  zeal, 

Win  His  crown. 

vni. 

And  so,  thou  glorious  Cross, 
On  the  steeple's  golden  boss, 
O'er  a  world  of  gilded  dross, 

Lifted  high, 
Thou  hast  been  to  me,  this  day, 
Like  a  far  descending  ray, 
That  lights  some  hut  of  clay, 

From  the  sky ! 

IX. 

My  banner  bright  art  thou, 
And  I  wear  thee  on  my  brow, 
"With  my  baptismal  vow, 

Writ  iD  gore  : 
16 


122  THE    SPIEE-CE0S5. 


Oil  Jesu,  from  my  heart, 


Let  its  shadow  ne'er  depart, 
But,  to  bring  rne  where  Thon  art, 
Go  before  ! 


®ratories. 

PRIVATE  PRAYER    IN    CHURCHES. 


N  a  church's  aisle  or  towers, 

Vestry,  porch,  or  chancel-side, 
If — in  prayerless  days  like  ours 

Any  open  door  is  spied ; 
Say  not  that  the  Sacristan 

Happens  there  to  ply  his  broom  ; 
Say — some  viewless  friend  of  man 
Beckons  thee,  and  says  there's  room. 
'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — Go  in  ! 

'Tis  the  Christian's  home  by  right ! 
Find  some  nook,  confess  thy  sin, 
And  go  forth  in  Jesu's  might. 


124  ORATORIES. 

n. 

Halt  not  for  some  foolish  doubt ! 

Is  it  not  thy  Father's  home  ? 
Who  will  dare  to  turn  thee  out, 

When  the  Master  bids  thee  come  ? 
Is  it  open  ?     Worship  God  ! 

If  another  lounges  round, 
Talking,  staring,  laughing  broad, 

Let  him  learn — 'tis  hallowed  ground. 
'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — &c. 

ni. 

Like  the  publican  of  old, 

Hide  the  face,  and  smite  the  breast, 
Say  his  words,  and— manifold 

Be  thy  secret  sins  confessed  ! 
For  the  people  there  that  pray, 

For  the  priest,  whose  vows  are  there, 
Brother-like  a  collect  say, 

Pray  some  dear  familiar  prayer. 
'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — &c. 

TV. 

Oh  'tis  sweet  a  home  to  claim 
Thus,  where'er  a  church  we  see, 


OEATOEIES.  125 

Stealing  in,  though  not  with  shame, 

Yet  to  worship,  noiselessly ; 
Like  the  birds  to  nestle  there 

Where  the  Psalmist's  cedars  grow ; 
And  to  leave  a  fragrant  prayer 
Wafting  heavenward  as  we  go. 

'Tis  the  house  of  prayer — Go  in  ! 

'Tis  the  Christian's  home  by  right ! 
Find  some  nook — confess  thy  sin, 
And  go  forth  in  Jesu's  might. 


ffl&uvnibt  J|omes. 


S  I  rode  on  my  errand  along, 

I  came  where  a  prim  little  spire 

Chimed  out  to  the  landscape  a  song, 

.     And  glowed  in  the  sunset  like  fire. 


Its  cross  beamed  a  beckoning  raj, 
And  the  home  of  m y  Mother  I  knew ; 

So  I  pressed  to  its  portal  to  pray, 
And  my  book  from  my  bosom  I  drew. 


m. 


How  sweet  was  the  service  within, 

And  the  plain  rustic  chaunt  how  sincere  ! 


WAYSIDE   HOMES.  127 

How  welcome  the  pardon  of  sin, 

And  the  kind  parting  blessing  how  dear ! 

IV. 

And  the  parson — I  knew  not  his  name, 

And  the  brethren — each  face  was  unknown  ; 

But  the  Church  and  the  prayers  were  the  same, 
And  my  heart  claimed  them  all  for  its  own. 

v. 

For  I  knew — in  my  own  little  nook, 
That  eve,  the  same  Psalter  was  said, 

And  Lessons,  the  same  from  the  Book, 
By  my  far-away  darlings  were  read. 

VI. 

So  I  prayed,  and  went  on  in  my  way, 

Blessing  God  for  the  Church  He  hath  given ; 

My  steed  on  his  journey  was  gay ; 
So  was  I — on  my  journey  to  Heaven. 


little  H00bmm. 

THE  PRAYER-BOOK  PATTERN. 


NAVE  it  had  and  a  chancel, 

The  Church  of  Little  Woodmere  ! 

A  porch  at  the  sonth :  on  the  north  side 
Did  a  tower  and  its  steeple  peer. 


n. 


And  a  bell,  o'er  the  eastern  gable, 
In  a  cross-topped  belfry  swung ; 

When  the  Litany  was  beginning, 
The  gable-bell  was  rung. 


LITTLE   WOODMERE.  129 

m. 

The  chancel  it  had  a  window, 

All  cunningly  set  with  stains : 
There  were  angels  and  saints  and  martyrs 

Seen  in  its  pictured  panes. 

rv. 

From  the  dust  and  noise  of  the  highway, 
'Twas  a  furlong  perchance  withdrawn ; 

Hard  by  stood  the  rectory  mansion, 
On  a  trim  little  shrubbery  lawn. 

v. 

And  all  round  the  church  was  a  churchyard, 

With  beautiful  clumps  of  trees ; 
The  churchyard  cross  was  planted 

On  a  hillock — like  Calvary's. 


VI. 

A  quaint  little  roof  o'er  the  gateway, 
"Where  funerals  paused  with  the  bier ! 

When  the  priest  came  forth,  in  his  surplice 
He  began  the  service  here. 
17 


130  LITTLE   WOODMEEE. 


vn. 


The  rich  and  poor,  all  together, 

On  the  sonth  of  the  church  were  sown, 

To  be  raised  in  the  same  incorrnption 
When  the  trumpet,  at  last,  is  blown. 


vm. 

On  the  north  of  the  church  were  buried 

The  dead  of  a  hapless  fame  ; 
A  cross  and  a  wail  for  pity, 

But  never  a  date,  or  name. 

EX. 

Here  and  there  was  a  quiet  corner, 

With  a  rustic  seat  in  shade, 
Where  mourners  would  come  and  ponder 

On  the  dear  ones  around  them  laid. 


And  there  I  mused  till  the  bell  tolled, 
And  thought,  with  the  soul  in  bliss, 

The  best  of  good  things  for  the  body 
Were  to  sleep  in  a  spot  like  this. 


LITTLE    WOOmiEKE.  131 


XI. 


As  I  joined  in  the  throng  from  the  village 
That  were  keeping  St.  Barthelmy's  day. 

And  passed  along,  with  glad  faces, 
And  festival  greetings  so  gay ; 


xn. 

I  was  ware  of  a  train  of  dear  children 
The  school  of  the  parish  stood  near, 

And,  led  by  a  dame  and  a  deacon, 
Thev  came — full  of  iov  and  of  fear. 


xrn. 

And  each  had  a  musical  Psalter, 

For  these  were  the  singers ;  each  one 

I  fancied  might  stand  for  the  cherubs 
They  carve  with  a  scroll,  upon  stone. 

xrv. 

As  I  entered  the  nave,  by  the  portal, 
I  came  to  the  font,  and  thought 

Of  the  door  to  the  Church  Universal, 
And  how  the  new-birth  is  wrought. 


132  LITTLE   WOODMERE. 

XV. 

For  a  moment  I  knelt  in  devotion ; 
And  then — as  I  raised  mine  eyes 


And  caught  the  clear  blaze  of  the  chancel 
In  the  glow  of  a  broad  sunrise ; 


XVI. 


The  altar — all  bright  with  its  silver, 
And  the  fair  white  cloth  bespread ; 

The  credence  prepared  for  oblation, 
The  chalice,  and  paten  of  bread ; 


xvn. 


I  thought  of  the  Church  triumphant, 
And  the  altar  where  Jesus  stands, 

Our  great  High-Priest  for  ever, 

With  a  censer  of  gold  in  His  hands. 


xvrn. 

There  was  a  plain  cross  o'er  the  rood-loft, 
By  the  chancel's  depth  relieved ; 

And  figures  were  carved,  in  the  railing, 
Of  saints  who  have  fought  and  achieved. 


LITTLE   WOODHEKE.  133 


XIX. 


And  I  thought  of  the  happy  departed, 
And  of  Jesu's  descent  into  hell ; 

And  of  babes,  and  of  glorious  virgins, 
In  Paradise-glory  that  dwell. 

xx. 

The  nave  it  was  dim,  for  its  ceiling 
Was  dark  with  its  timbers  of  oak  : 

Of  the  Militant  Church  'twas  the  symbol ; 
And  here  knelt  the  worshipping  folk. 

XXI. 

They  knelt — rich  and  poor  knelt  together, 
The  ploughman  at  side  of  the  squire : 

They  recked  not  of  gewgaw  nor  feather, 
If  white  was  the  soul's  attire. 

xxn. 

On  the  gospel-side  hung  the  pulpit ; 

'Twas  carved  with  an  angel  and  scroll : 
And  now — from  the  sacristy  entered 

The  priest,  in  his  cope  and  his  stole. 


134  LITTLE   WOODMERE. 


xxrn. 

And  soon  swelled  the  tones  of  the  service  : 
The  people  were  singers,  each  one  ; 

They  chaunted  a  psalm  from  the  Psalter, 
Men  and  maidens,  the  sire  and  the  son. 

XXIV. 

And  then  came  the  Prayer  and  Commandments, 

The  Collect,  with  fervour  devout, 
And  then  the  Epistle  and  Gospel ; 

And  the  Creed — it  went  up  with  a  shout ! 

XXV. 

I  would  you  had  listened  the  sermon  : 
ISTathanael,  the  saint  without  guile, 

Was  the  text — and  the  blessed  example, 
And  guileless  as  he  was  the  style. 

XXVI. 

And  oh,  how  like  Heaven  was  communion, 
Thus  far  from  the  world  and  its  cares  ! 

If  my  life  were  but  led  in  that  village, 
'Twould  indeed  be  a  life-time  of  prayers. 


LITTLE   WOODMERE.  135 


xxvn. 

Afar  from  the  blast  of  polemics, 

Afar  from  their  hate  and  their  strife, 

No  scorn  of  the  brawling  declaimer 
Should  turn  the  still  course  of  my  life. 

xxvm. 

While  they  would  rail  on,  I'd  be  praying ; 

And,  blest  with  a  foretaste  of  bliss, 
Live  only  with  Herbert  and  Ferrar, 

Forgetting  such  ages  as  this. 

XXTX. 

"With  names,  in  the  Canon  of  Heaven, 
That  shine  like  the  glittering  skies, 

Mine  too  be  the  scorn  of  the  creatures 
Whose  god  is  the  Father  of  Lies  ; 

XXX. 

But  call  me  a  Jew  or  a  Pagan, 
I'd  pray  the  good  Lord  to  forgive, 

And  in  heart,  and  in  spirit,  a  Christian, 
'Tis  so  I  would  die,  and  would  live. 


^tsohixom, 


VIRGINIA    CHURCHES. 


Jerusalem  lieth  waste,  and  the  gates  thereof  are  burned  with  fire;  come 
and  let  us  build  up  the  wall  of  Jerusalem,  that  we  be  no  more  a  reproach. 
— Nehemiah. 


cy^y    AST  been  where  the  full-blossomed 
bay-tree  is  blowing, 
With  odours  like  Eden's  around  ? 
Hast   seen  where    the   broad-leaved 
palmetto  is  growing, 
And  wild  vines  are  fringing  the  ground  ? 


DESOLATIONS.  137 

Hast  sat  in  the  shade  of  catalpas,  at  noon, 
To  eat  the  cool  gourds  of  their  clime; 

Or  slept  where  magnolias  were  screening  the  moon, 
And  the  mocking-bird  sung  his  sweet  rhyme  ? 


n. 

And  didst  mark,  in  thy  journey,  at  dew-dropping  eve, 

Some  ruin  peer  high  o'er  thy  way, 
\Yith  rooks  wheeling  round  it,  and  ivy  to  weave 

A  mantle  for  turrets  so  gray  ? 
Did  ye  ask  if  some  lord  of  the  cavalier  kind 

Lived  there,  when  the  country  was  young  ? 
And  burned  not  the  blood  of  a  Christian  to  find 

How  there  the  old  prayer-bell  had  rung  ? 


m. 

And  did  ye  not  glow,  when  they  told  ye — the  Lord 

Had  dwelt  in  that  thistle-grown  pile  ; 
And  that  bones  of  old  Christians  were  under  its  sward. 

That  once  had  knelt  down  in  its  aisle  ? 
And  had  ye  no  tear-drops  your  blushes  to  steep 

When  ye  thought — o'er  your  country  so  broad, 
The  bard  seeks  in  vain  for  a  mouldering  heap 

Save  only  these  churches  of  God  ! 
18 


138  DESOLATIONS. 

IV. 

Oh  ye  that  shall  pass  by  those  ruins  agen, 

Go  kneel  in  their  alleys  and  pray, 
And  not  till  their  arches  have  echoed  amen 

Rise  up,  and  fare  on,  in  your  way. 
Pray  God  that  those  aisles  may  be  crowded  once  more, 

Those  altars  surrounded  and  spread, 
While  anthems  and  prayers  are  upsent  as  of  yore, 

As  they  take  of  the  Chalice  and  Bread. 


Ay,  pray  on  thy  knees,  that  each  old  rural  fane 

They  have  left  to  the  bat  and  the  mole, 
May  sound  with  the  loud-pealing  organ  again, 

And  the  full-swelling  voice  of  the  soul. 
Peradventure,  when  next  thou  shalt  journey  thereby, 

Even-bells  shall  ring  out  on  the  air, 
And  the  dim-lighted  windows  reveal  to  thine  eye 

The  snowy-robed  pastor  at  prayer. 


€lnkm< 


g?HEN  old  Canute  the  Dane 
Was  merry  England's  king  ; 
A  thousand  years  agone,  and  more, 

As  ancient  rymours  sing  ; 
His  boat  was  rowing  down  the  Onse, 


At  eve,  one  summer  day, 
"Where  Ely's  tall  cathedral  peered 
Above  the  glassy  way. 


n. 

Anon,  sweet  music  on  his  ear, 
Comes  floating  from  the  fane, 

And  listening,  as  with  all  his  soul, 
Sat  old  Canute  the  Dane  : 


140  CHELSEA. 

And  reverent  did  he  doff  his  crown, 
To  join  the  clerkly  prayer, 

While  swelled  old  lauds  and  litanies 
Upon  the  stilly  air. 


m. 

Now,  who  shall  glide  on  Hudson's  breast, 

At  eve  of  summer  day, 
And  cometh  where  St.  Peter's  tower 

Peers  o'er  his  coasting  way  : 
A  moment,  let  him  slack  his  oar, 

And  speed  more  still  along, 
His  ears  shall  catch  those  very  notes 

Of  litany  and  song. 


rv. 

The  Church  that  sung  those  anthem  prayers 

A  thousand  years  ago, 
Is  singing  yet  by  silver  Cam, 

And  here  by  Hudson's  flow : 
And  Glorias  that  thrilled  the  heart 

Of  old  Canute  the  Dane, 
Are  rising  yet,  at  morn  and  eve, 

From  Chelsea's  student  train. 


CHELSEA.  141 


Venue  Exuxtemus,  there, 

Those  ancient  scholars  sung, 
And  Jubilate  Domino 

The  vaulted  alleys  rung  : 
And  our  gray  pile  with  tremble  oft 

Beneath  the  organ's  roar, 
When  here  those  very  matin-songs 

With  high  Te  Deum  pour. 

VI. 

And  where  are  kings  and  empires  now, 

Since  then,  that  went  and  came  ? 
But  holy  Church  is  praying  yet, 

A  thousand  years  the  same ! 
And  these  that  sing  shall  pass  away  ; 

New  choirs  their  room  shall  fill : 
Be  sure  thy  children's  children  here 

Shall  hear  those  anthems  still. 

vn. 

For  not  like  kingdoms  of  the  world 

The  holy  Church  of  God  ! 
Though  earthquake-shocks  be  rocking  it, 

And  tempest  is  abroad  ; 


142  CHELSEA, 

Unshaken  as  eternal  hills 


Unmovable  it  stands, 
A  mountain  that  shall  fill  the  earth, 
A  fane  unbuilt  by  hands. 


vm. 

Though  years  fling  ivy  over  it, 

Its  cross  peers  high  in  air, 
And  reverend  with  majestic  age, 

Eternal  youth  is  there  ! 
Oh  mark  her  holy  battlements, 

And  her  foundations  strong  ; 
And  hear,  within,  her  ceaseless  voice, 

And  her  unending  song  ! 


IX. 

Oh  ye,  that  in  these  latter  days 

The  citadel  defend, 
Perchance  for  you,  the  Saviour  said 

I'm  with  you — to  the  end  : 
Stand  therefore  girt  about,  and  hold 

Your  burning  lamps  in  hand, 
And  standing,  listen  for  your  Lord, 

And  till  He  cometh — stand  ! 


CHELSEA.  143 


X. 


The  gates  of  hell  shall  ne'er  prevail 

Against  our  holy  home, 
But  oh  be  wakeful  sentinels, 

Until  the  Master  come  ! 
The  night  is  spent — but  listen  ye  ; 

For  on  its  deepest  calm, 
What  marvel  if  the  cry  be  heard, 

The  marriage  of  the  Lamb  ! 


Wxgih. 


Let  your  loins  be  girded  about,  and  your  lights  burning: 

And  ye  yourselves  like  unto  men  that  wait  for  their  lord,  when  he  will 
return  from  the  wedding  ; 

Blessed  are  those  servants  whom  the  Lord,  when  He  cometh,  shall  find 
watching: 

And  if  He  shall  come  in  the  second  watch,  or  come  in  the  third  watch, 
and  find  them  so,  blessed  are  those  servants. — The  Holy  Gospel  in  the  Or- 
<lering  of  Beacons. 


T  is  the  fall  of  eve ; 
|F  And  the  long  tapers,  now,  we  light 
And  watch :  for  we  believe 
Our  Loed  may  come  at  night. 
Adeste  Fideles. 


VIGILS.  145 

II 
An  hour — and  it  is  Seven, 
And  fast  away  the  evening  rolls  : 

Oh  it  is  dark  in  heaven, 
But  light  within  onr  souls. 

Yeni  Creator  Spiritus  ! 

m. 
Hark  !  the  old  bell  strikes  Eight  ! 
And  still  we  watch  with  heart  and  ear, 

For  as  the  hour  grows  late 
The  Day-star  may  be  near. 

Jubilate  Deo  ! 

IV. 

Hark  !  it  is  knelling  Nlne  ! 
But  faithful  eyes  grow  never  dim ; 

And  still  our  tapers  shine, 
And  still  ascends  our  hymn. 

Cum  Angelis ! 


The  watchman  crieth  Ten  ! 
My  soul,  be  watching  for  the  Light, 

For  when  He  comes  agen, 

'Tis — as  the  thief  at  night. 

Nisi  Dominus  ! 
19 


14:0  VIGILS. 

YI. 

By  tlie  old  bell — Eleven  ! 
Now  trim  thy  lamp,  and  ready  stand ; 

The  world  to  sleep  is  given, 
But  Jesus  is  at  hand. 

Kyrie  Eleison  ! 

vn. 

At  Midnight — is  a  cry ! 
Is  it  the  bridegroom  draweth  near  \ 

Come  quickly,  Lord,  for  I 
Have  longed  Thy  voice  to  hear  ! 
De  profundis ! 

vm. 

Could  ye  not  watch  One  hour  ? 
Be  ready :  or  the  bridal  train 

And  Bridegroom,  with  His  dower, 
May  sweep  along  in  vain. 

Miserere  mei ! 


LX. 

By  the  old  steeple — Two  ! 
And  now  I  know  the  day  is  near ! 


VIGILS.  147 


Watch — for  His  word  is  true, 
And  Jesus  may  appear  ! 
Dies  Iras. 


Three — by  the  drowsy  chime  ! 
And  joy  is  nearer  than  at  first. 

Oh,  let  ns  watch  the  time 
When  the  first  light  shall  burst ! 
Sursum  corda ! 


XL 

Four — and  a  streak  of  day ! 
At  the  cock-crowing  He  may  come  ; 

And  still  to  all  I  say, 
Watch — and  with  awe  be  dumb. 
Fili  David ! 

xn. 

Five  ! — and  the  tapers  now 
In  rosy  morning  dimly  burn  ! 

Stand,  and  be  girded  thou  ; 
Thy  Lord  will  yet  return ! 
Yeni  Jesu  ! 


148  VIGILS. 

xm. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  Matin-call ! 
Oh,  when  onr  Lord  shall  come  agen, 

At  prime  or  even  fall, 
Blest  are  the  wakeful  men ! 

Xnnc  dimittis. 


• 


gtatw  ^dk. 


I  myself  will  awake  right  early. — Psalter. 


HE  Sun  is  up  betimes, 

And  the  dappled  East  is  blushing, 
And  the  merry  matin-chimes, 

They  are  gushing — Christian — gush- 
ing! 
They  are  tolling  in  the  tower, 
For  another  day  begun  ; 
And  to  hail  the  rising  hour 
Of  a  brighter,  brighter  Sun. 


150  MATIN   BELLS. 

Rise — Christian — rise ! 

For  a  sunshine  brighter  far 
Is  breaking  o'er  thine  eyes, 

Than  the  bonny  morning  star ! 

n. 

The  lark  is  in  the  sky, 

And  his  morning-note  is  pouring  : 
He  hath  a  wing  to  fly, 

So  he's  soaring — Christian — soaring  ! 
His  nest  is  on  the  ground, 

But  only  in  the  night ; 
For  he  loves  the  matin-sound, 

And  the  highest  heaven's  height. 
Hark — Christian — hark  ! 

At  heaven-door  he  sings  ! 
And  be  thou  like  the  lark, 

With  thy  soaring  spirit- wings  ! 

m. 

The  merry  matin-bells, 

In  their  watch-tower  they  are  swinging ; 
For  the  day  is  o'er  the  dells, 

And  they're  singing — Christian — singing  ! 
They  have  caught  the  morning  beam 

Through  their  ivied  turret's  wreath, 


MATIN   BELLS.  151 


And  the  chancel-window's  gleam 

Is  glorious  beneath : 
Go — Christian — go, 

For  the  altar  flameth  there, 
And  the  snowy  vestments  glow, 

Of  the  presbyter  at  prayer ! 

IV. 

There  is  morning"  incense  flung 

From  the  child-like  lily-flowers ; 
And  their  fragrant  censer  swung, 

Make  it  ours — Christian — ours  ! 
And  hark,  our  Mother's  hymn, 

And  the  organ-peals  we  love  ! 
They  sound  like  cherubim 

At  their  orisons  above  ! 
Pray — Christian — pray 

At  the  bonny  peep  of  dawn, 
Ere  the  dew-drop  and  the  spray 

That  christen  it,  are  gone ! 


®{j*  Cwrfefa 


N"  each  New-England  village, 

At  nine  o'clock  at  night, 
Still  rings  old  England's  curfew, 
And  says — put  out  the  light ! 
Then  tell  they  to  their  children, 
Of  long  long  years  ago, 
The  tale  of  Battle- Abbey, 
How  they  fought  with  shaft  and  bow. 


n. 

But  here's  another  story 

New-England  wives  may  tell, 

How  he  that  bade  the  curfew 
Heard  an  unbidden  bell ; 

And  let  the  boy  that  listens 
Which  best  he  liketh  say, 


THE    CUTiFEW.  153 


The  bell  that  rings  for  darkness. 
Or  the  bell  that  rin^s  for  day. 


in. 

"Wlien  TTilliam  lav  a-dying, 

All  dull  of  eye  and  dim, 
And  he  that  conquered  Harold 

Felt  One  that  conquered  him  ; 
He  recked  not  of  the  minutes, 

The  midnight,  or  the  morn, 
But  there  he  lay — unbreathing 

As  the  babe  that  is  still-born. 

rv. 

But  suddenly  a  bell  tolled  ! 

He  started  from  the  swound, 
First  glared,  and  then  grew  gentle 

Then  wildly  stared  around. 
He  deemed  'twas  bell  at  even, 

To  quench  the  Saxon's  coal, 
But  oh,  it  was  a  curfew 

To  quench  his  fiery  soul. 


Xow,  prithee,  holy  father  ! 
"Wliat  means  this  bell,  I  pray  ? 
20 


154  THE    CURFEW. 

Is't  curfew-time  in  England, 

Or  am  I  far  away  ? 
God  wot — it  moves  my  spirit, 

As  if  it  ev'n  might  be 
The  bells  of  mine  own  city, 

In  dear  old  Normandie. 

VI. 

Ay,  sire — thou  art  in  Rouen  ; 

And  'tis  the  prayer-bell's  chime 
In  the  steeple  of  St.  Mary's, 

That  tolls  the  hour  of  prime  ! 
Then  bid  them  pray  for  William, 

And  may  the  Virgin-born, 
In  the  church  of  His  sweet  mother, 

Hear  then  praying,  this  blest  morn. 

vn. 

Little  dream  the  kneeling  people 

Who  joins  them  in  their  prayers  ! 
They  deem  not  stout  King  William 

Their  paternoster  shares  : 
Nor  see  they  how  he  lifteth 

With  theirs,  his  dying  hand — 
The  hand  that,  from  the  Saxon, 

Tore  the  crown  of  fair  England  : 


THE    CUEFEW.  155 


vm. 

Nor  heard  they — as  responding 

To  their  ehaunting  oft  he  sighed, 
Till  rose  their  de  profundis, 

And  the  mighty  Norman  died. 
And  I  have  thought,  who  knoweth. 

But  if  that  early  toll, 
Like  the  contrite  malefactor's, 

Moved  a  dying  sinner's  soul ! 

rx. 

And  we,  the  Seed  of  England, 

Hear  yet  the  curfew's  knell ; 
Oh  might  we  learn  from  William 

That  soul-awaking  bell ! 
Then  should  the  sound  that  covers 

At  night  the  cheery  coal, 
Stir,  too,  the  morning-embers 

Of  worship  in  the  soul. 


SMiibmhtsfer. 


An  altar  of  earth  thou  shalt  make  unto  Me. — Exodus. 


O  where  the  mossy  rock  shall  be 
Thy  nature-hallowed  shrine, 
The  leafy  copse  thy  canopy, 

Its  fringe,  the  gadding  vine  ! 
There  let  the  clusters  round  that  blush, 

Be  sacramental  Blood, 
And  fountains,  by  the  feet  that  gush, 
Thy  pure  baptizing  flood. 


There  let  the  snowy  lawn  be  spread 
Upon  the  turfy  mound  : 

There  break  the  life-bestowing  Bread, 
And  bless  the  people  round. 


WILDMIN"STER.  157 

There,  the  green  bush  thy  chancel-rail, 

Its  eushion'd  floor  the  sod, 
Bid  welcome,  to  the  silvan  pale, 

The  kneeling  host  of  God. 


hi. 

Look  up,  and  fretted  vaults  are  there, 

And  heaven  itself  shines  through, 
Or  evening  is  depictured  fair, 

The  starlight,  and  the  blue  ! 
A  temple  never  built  by  hands, 

And  many  a  shadowed  aisle, 
There — where  the  columned  forest  stands, 

Be  thy  cathedral  pile ! 


rv. 

There,  are  full  choir  and  antiphon 

At  lauds  and  vesper-time, 
And  every  niche  rings  unison 

With  priestly  voice,  at  prime  : 
There,  shall  thy  solitary  soul 

Find  out  its  cloister  dim, 
With  not  the  labouring  organ's  roll. 

But  nature's  gushing  hymn. 


158  WILDMEN'STEB. 

V. 

There,  the  full  flowers  their  odours  fling 

To  bid  thee  pour  thy  prayer, 
And  vines  their  fragrant  censers  swing 

O'er  all  the  hallowed  air. 
Thy  heart  forth-flaming  to  the  skies 

Shall  like  their  breath  be  given, 
And  like  consuming  incense  rise 

In  sweetness  up  to  heaven. 

VI. 

Go  to  the  harvest-whitened  West, 

Ye  surpliced  priests  of  God, 
In  all  the  Christian  armour  drest, 

And  with  the  Gospel  shod  : 
Go,  for  their  feet  are  beautiful 

That  on  the  mountain  stand, 
And,  more  than  music,  musical, 

The  watchman's  voice  at  hand. 

VII. 

Go,  for  the  midnight  wanes  apace  ; 

The  Sun  himself  is  nigh  ! 
Go  to  the  wild  and  lonely  place, 

And  in  the  desert  cry. 


WILDMINSTER.  159 

Go, — and  the  greenwoods  are  thy  fane?. 

Thine  altars — every  sod : 
Say  to  the  wilderness,  He  reigns, 

Thy  Saviour  and  thy  God  ! 

vin. 

Lo  !  where  the  nnsent  heralds  run, 

"Wiry  wait  Thy  priests,  oh  Lord  ! 
These  that  were  bid,  from  sun  to  sun, 

To  preach  the  Gospel  word  ? 
Oh  to  Thine  harvest,  Saviour,  send 

The  hosts  of  Thine  employ, 
To  reap  the  ripened  sheaves  that  bend, 

And  shout  them  home  with  joy ! 


Itasjjotafr. 


AMERICAN   MISSIONS. 


H  Loed,  our  Lord,  how  spreads  that 
little  seed 
Which  was,  at  first,  of  every  seed 
the  least ! 

The  birds  of  air  shall  scarce  its  growth  outspeed  : 
Its  world-wide  branches  knit  the  West  and  East. 


NASHOTAII  161 


II. 


But  how  it  makes  my  heart  of  hearts  upswell 
To  see  our  English  ritual  planted  there, 

Where  walks  his  round  ^ashotah's  sentinel, 
And  breaks  its  daily  service  on  the  air  ! 


m. 

Rude  as  the  Saviour's  birthplace  are  its  halls, 

O'er  which,  like  Bethlehem's  star,  the  cross  appears 

And  oft  the  watchman  of  those  outpost  walls 
In  tented  fields  his  wakeful  voice  uprears. 

IV. 

Oft,  on  their  summer-mission,  as  they  fare, 
They  seek  the  wildwood  settler's  far  retreat, 

And  rear  their  curtained  chapel — while,  to  prayer, 
The  forest-dwellers  haste  with  ready  feet. 


v. 

And  where,  at  dawn,  the  prairie-fox  did  bark, 
Are  heard,  by  night,  sweet  canticle  and  chaunt : 

Where  sung  before  no  choirist  but  the  lark, 
Ring  out  the  Church's  anthems  jubilant  ! 
21 


162  NASHOTAH. 


VI. 

Then,  in  the  wilderness,  is  heard  the  voice 
Of  one  that,  like  the  Baptist,  bids  repent ; 

While  the  rnde  trappers  tremblingly  rejoice, 
And  hearts,  long-hardened,  soften  and  relent. 


vn. 

And  there  the  Norway  rover,  or  the  Swede, 
Kneels  with  frank  Switzer,  and  the  florid  Dane 

And  England's  exile  weeps  to  find  the  seed 

His  mother  scattered — bound  in  sheaves  again  : 


VIII. 

While  here  and  there,  those  mingled  groups  amid, 
The  smoking  torches  shew  the  desert-child  ; 

The  sad  Oneida's  countenance,  half  hid, 

The  bloody  Osage — tamed,  yet  darkly  wild. 


IX. 

Flares  on  the  Negro's  swarth  the  self-same  blaze  : 

Nor  lacks  the  scene,  from  Shem's  sad  tents,  some  one  ; 

Nashotah's  priests  have  found,  in  desert  ways, 
Rebecca's  child  and  Isaac's  homeless  son. 


N  AS  HOT  AH.  163 


31. 


Thus,  in  the  outskirt  earth,  earth's  races  meet, 
For  such  their  Maker's  wonderful  award, 

And,  at  our  Mother's  fair  unfetter'd  feet, 

Learn  of  the  Cross,  and  bow  to  own  its  Lokd  ! 


XI. 


Another  service  greets  the  morrow's  dawn, 

And  babes  are  christened,  and  a  prayer-book  left : 

Then — in  a  trice — priest,  chapel,  all  are  gone  : 
'Tis  something  if  the  woodman  feels  bereft ! 


xn. 

Oh  might  our  Mother's  caitiff  sons  that  rend 
Her  yearning  bowels,  in  the  mother-land, 

See  how  she  blesses  thus  the  far  world's  end, 
And  lift  for  pardoning  grace  their  guilty  hand  ! 

xm. 

Hear,  then,  my  plaint,  ye  white-robed  youth  that  raise 
By  stately  Cam  the  even  or  morning  song, 

And  when  in  turn  ye  wear  the  Senate's  bays. 

Avenge — your  fathers'  shame — our  Mother's  wrong. 


164  BTA8H0TAH. 


XIV. 

And  you.  ye  clerks,  'neath  Oxford's  glorious  domes 
That  kneel,  fulJ  oft,  too  listless  at  your  prayers. 

Think  of  the  rites  that  bless  these  forest  homes, 
And  yours,  perchance,  shall  be  as  blest  as  theirs. 

XT. 

For  not  your  hymns  that  Wykeham's  roofs  rebound. 

Xot  Waynflete's  arches  wake  such  deep  delight, 
As  that  Xashotalrs  wilds  alike  resound 

The  self-same  prayers,  and  own  the  same  sweet  rite  ! 

XYI. 

Oh  'tis  the  glory  of  our  service  blest 
Not  that  alone  cathedrals  hear  it  sung, 

But  that  its  music  cheers  the  world's  wild  West, 
And  swells  in  rudeness  from  the  woodman's  tongue 


xvn. 

And  oft  I  think — what  joy  and  strength,  in  God, 

Prophetic  vision  of  what  thus  I  sing, 
Had  given  to  saintly  Ken,  or  martyred  Laud, 

When  seemed  the  Church  half  dead  with  suffering  ! 


NASH0TAH.  165 

XVIIT. 

Or  even  to  him,  the  frail  but  reverend  sire, 

Whose  palsied  palm  passed  down  the  lineal  grace. 

Yes — even  to  Cranmer,  with  that  palm  on  fire, 
And  Moses'  radiance  on  his  dying  face  ; 

XIX. 

Had  he  the  Australian  wilderness  foreseen, 

Canadian  fastness,  and  the  torrid  land, 
And  priests,  despising  seas  that  roll  between, 

By  Christ  commissioned,  through  his  flaming  hand  ! 

xx. 

Ivejoice  we,  then,  remembering  other  times 
When  hung  the  Church's  life  upon  a  thread, 

That  God  hath  slain  her  tyrants  for  their  crimes, 
And  raised  her  up,  immortal,  from  the  dead  ! 


Si  Sitoan's  |icll. 


Desire  of  me,  and  I  shall  give  thee  the  heathen  for  thine  inheritance, 
and  the  utmost  parts  of  the  earth  for  thy  possession. — Psalter. 


FORTNIGHT  it  was  from  Whitsuntide, 

And  a  service  was  said  that  day, 
In  a  little  church,  that  a  good  man  built 
In  the  wilderness  far  away. 
yj>      \    A  twelve-month  before,  and  there  was  not 
there 
Or  temple  or  holy  bell ; 
But  the  place  it  was  free  from  holiness 
As  the  soul  of  the  Infidel. 


IT. 


Five  thousand  years  this  world  is  old, 
And  twice  four  hundred  more. 


107 


And  that  green  spot  had  forest  been 
From  the  eldest  days  of  yore  : 

And  there  had  the  red-man  made  his  hut, 
And  the  savage  beast  his  lair, 

But  never,  since  this  old  earth  was  young, 
Was  it  hallowed  with  Christian  prayer. 


in. 


But  now,  for  the  first,  a  bell  rung  out, 

Through  the  aisles  of  the  wild  greenwood, 
And  echo  came  back  from  the  far  far  trees, 

Like  the  holla  of  Robin  Hood  : 
And  the  red-deer  woke,  in  his  bosky  nook, 

That  strange  strange  sound  to  hear, 
And  the  jessamine-buds  from  his  side  he  shook, 

And  he  listened  awhile  in  fear. 

rv. 

But  the  bell  that  rings  for  the  Prince  of  Peace 

Is  never  a  beast's  alarm, 
And  down  went  his  antlered  head  agen, 

Like  an  infant  asleep  on  its  arm : 
And  the  woodman  went  by,  and  stirred  him  not, 

With  his  wife  and  children  round, 
And  the  baby  leaped  up  on  its  mother's  breast, 

And  laughed  at  the  church-bell's  sound. 


168  ST.    SILVAx's    BELL. 


For  the  "babe,  he  was  all  unchristened  jet, 

And  well  might  he  leap  for  joy ; 
A  fountain  was  gnshing,  where  rung  that  bell. 

That  should  make  him  a  Christian  boy. 
And  his  mother — she  thought  of  the  Catechist, 

And  she  blessed  the  Lord  above, 
That  her  child  should  be  baptized  for  Christ, 

And  taught  in  His  fear  and  love. 

VI. 

And  she  prayed  in  her  heart,  as  Hannah  prayed, 

He  might  kneel  in  the  chancel  fair, 
Like  children  they  brought  to  the  Lokd  of  old, 

To  be  blest  with  the  bishop's  prayer : 
And  she  saw,  far  off,  the  vested  priest, 

The  ring,  and  the  inarriage-bann, 
Making  some  maiden  a  happy  wife, 

And  her  boy  a  happier  man. 

vn. 

And  the  bell  rung  on ;  and  the  wood  sent  forth, 
From  their  log-built  homes  around, 

The  yeomanry  all  with  their  families 
A-wondering  at  the  sound  : 


ST.    SIL VAN'S    BELL.  169 


And  tears  I  saw  in  an  old  mams  eye, 
That  came  from  a  far  conntree ; 

It  minded  his  inmost  soul,  he  said, 
Of  the  church-bells  over  the  sea. 


vrn. 

For  a  boy  was  he,  in  England,  once, 

And  he  loved  the  merry  chimes ; 
Had  heard  them  ring  out  of  a  Whitsuntide, 

And  waken  the  holiday-times  ! 
And  a  boy  was  he  when  hither  he  came, 

But  now  he  was  old  and  gray ; 
He  had  not  thought  that  a  Christian  bell 

Should  toll  on  his  burial-day. 


rx. 

A  boy  was  he  when  he  first  swung  axe 

Against  the  strong  oak  limb ; 
He  was  gray-haired  now,  when  he  heard  the  bell 

And  threw  it  away  from  him  ; 
And  he  followed  the  sound — for  he  thought  of  home, 

And  the  motherly  hand  so  fair, 
That  led  him  along  through  the  churchyard  mounds, 

And  made  him  kneel  down  to  prayer. 


170 


And  now  did  an  organ's  peal  break  out, 

And  the  bell-notes  died  away : 
And  a  holy  bishop,  in  robes,  was  there, 

And  priests  in  their  white  array. 
And  I  heard  a  voice  go  np  the  nave, 

And  the  priests,  responding  plain  ; 
Lift  np  your  heads,  ye  gates — they  said, 

For  the  King  of  Glory's  train  ! 

XI. 

And  I  could  not  but  weep,  for  I  knew,  on  high, 

The  Saviour  had  asked  of  God, 
That  the  utmost  lands  might  all  be  His, 

And  the  ground  whereon  I  trod ; 
And  I  blessed  the  good  Lord,  that  here  at  length 

His  own  true  heralds  came, 
To  challenge  for  Christ  His  heritage, 

And  hallow  it  with  His  Name. 

xn. 

.Now  pray  with  me,  that  ever  there 

St.  Silvan's  bell  may  ring, 
And  the  yeoman  brave,  with  their  children  all, 

The  praise  of  the  Saviour  sing : 


And  pray  ye  still,  that,  further  west, 
The  song  of  the  bell  may  sound, 

Till  the  land,  from  sea  to  sea,  is  blest. 
And  the  world  is  holy  ground. 


171 


gitilg  Sairia. 


One  day  telleth  another. — Psalter. 


=^HExsT  the  gorgeous  day  begins 
In  the  world's  remotest  East, 
\md  the  sun  his  pathway  wins, 
-j/      Bringing  back  some  glorious  feast ; 
There,  forestalling  fears  and  sins, 
Kneels  the  faithful  English  priest : 
There  the  altar  glitters  fair, 
Spread  for  Eucharistic  prayer. 


ii. 


And  as  each  meridian  line, 

Gains  the  travelled  sun,  that  day, 


DAILY    SERVICE. 

Still  begin  those  rites  divine, 
Still  new  priests  begin  to  pray ; 

Still  are  blest  the  bread  and  wine, 
Still  one  prayer  salutes  bis  ray  : 

Continent  and  ocean  round 

Rolls  tbe  tided  wave  of  sound  ! 

ni. 

Then  at  last  tbe  prairied  West 
Sees  tbe  festal  ligbt  appear, 

And  Kasbotab's  clerks,  from  rest, 
Early  rise,  their  song  to  rear ; 

Gird  they  then  the  snowy  vest, 
Raise  they  then  the  anthem  clear ; 

Anthems  in  the  East  that  rose, 

Girded  earth — and  there  must  close. 

rv. 

But  when,  there,  the  holy  light 
Fades  adown  their  west  afar, 

And  begins  the  vesper  rite, 
Faithful  as  the  vesper  star, 

Then — just  then — has  passed  the  night, 
Where  our  eastern  altars  are ; 

And  another  daylight  fair 

Wakes  a  new  earth-girding  prayer. 


174  DAILY   SEEVICE. 


Brethren  of  the  West — my  soul 
Oft,  to  you,  will  westward  wing, 

When  some  hymn  ascendeth  whole 
At  the  hour  of  offering, 

Thinking  how  'twill  onward  roll 
Till  your  voice  the  same  shall  sing  ; 

Uttered  o'er  and  o'er  agen, 

Till  ye  give  the  last  Amen. 

VI. 

That  same  hymn,  ere  I  have  sung, 
Hath  been  sung  in  England's  fanes, 

And  perchance,  in  barbarous  tongue, 
'Mid  the  Orient  hills  and  plains  ; 

And — to  die  the  woods  among, 

Swells,  from  aisles  and  tinted  panes, 

To  the  forest's  solemn  cells, 

Where  the  roving  red-man  dwells. 

vn. 

Moves  my  spirit  at  the  thought 
That  our  service,  Anglican, 

From  the  faithful  Isle,  hath  caught 
Thus,  the  many  hearts  of  man ; 


DAILY   SERVICE.  175 

For  this  sign  our  God  hath  wrought, 
'Gainst  the  heartless  Soman's  ban  ; 
Seal  of  life,  and  fire  divine, 
Mother,  in  those  words  of  Thine  ! 

Yin. 

One — in  water  sanctified, 

Though  the  claim  be  long  forgot ; 

One — in  blood  from  Jesu's  side, 
Though  proud  Trent  confess  it  not ; 

One — in  Spirit,  far  and  wide, 
With  each  ancient  part  and  lot ; 

Mother,  let  me  ever  be 

One  with  Christ  and  one  with  Thee  ! 


©Ijristmas  CmrL 


AROL,  carol,  Christians, 

Carol  joyfully ; 
Carol  for  the  coming 
^     Of  Christ's  ^Tativity ; 
And  pray  a  gladsome  Christmas 
For  all  good  Christian  men ; 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  177 


Carol,  carol,  Christians, 


For  Christmas,  come  agen. 
Carol,  carol. 


Go  ye  to  the  forest, 

"Where  the  myrtles  grow, 
Where  the  pine  and  laurel 

Bend  beneath  the  snow  : 
Gather  them  for  Jesus  ; 

Wreathe  them  for  His  shrine 
Make  His  temple  glorious 

With  the  box  and  pine. 

Carol,  carol. 


m. 

Wreath  your  Christmas  garland, 

Where  to  Christ  we  pray : 
It  shall  smell  like  Carmel 

On  our  festal  day ; 
Libanus  and  Sharon 

Shall  not  greener  be 
Than  our  holy  chancel 

On  Christ's  Xativity. 


Carol,  carol. 


23 


178  CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

rv. 

Carol,  carol,  Christians ! 

Like  the  Magi  now, 
Ye  must  lade  your  -caskets 

With  a  grateful  vow : 
Ye  must  have  sweet  incense, 

Myrrh,  and  finest  gold, 
At  our  Christmas  altar 

Humbly  to  unfold. 

Carol,  carol. 

v. 

Blow,  blow  up  the  trumpet, 

For  our  solemn  feast, 
Gird  thine  armour,  Christian. 

Wear  thy  surplice,  priest ! 
Go  ye  to  the  altar, 

Pray,  with  fervour  pray, 
For  Jesus'  second  coming, 

And  the  Latter  Day. 

Carol,  carol. 


VI. 


Give  us  grace,  oh  Saviour, 
To  put  off  in  might, 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  179 

Deeds  and  dreams  of  darkness, 

For  the  robes  of  light ! 
And  to  live  as  lowly, 

As  Thyself  with  men  ; 
So  to  rise  in  glory, 

When  Thou  com'st  agen. 

Carol,  carol. 


listening. 


H,  if  there  be  a  sight,  on  earth. 
That  makes  good  angels  smile, 

'Tis  when  a  soul  of  mortal  birth 
Is  washed  from  mortal  guile  : 


ii. 


When  some  repentant  child  of  Eve's, 

In  age,  is  born  anew : 
Or  when,  on  life's  first  buds  and  leaves, 

Falls  the  baptismal  dew. 


m. 


But  all  the  same  !  The  soul  that,  in 
That  laver  undefiled, 


CHRISTEXCsG.  181 

Is  truly  washed  from  wrath  and  sin, 
Must  be  a  little  child. 

IT. 

Children  alone  that  grace  may  claim, 

'WTiether,  to  babes,  be  given, 
Or  to  the  childlike  heart,  the  name 

Of  all  the  sons  of  Heaven  ! 


See,  then,  the  font,  the  church's  door, 
The  group  with  gladsome  look, 

The  waters,  and  the  priest  to  pour, 
The  sponsors,  and  the  book  ! 

VI. 

What  light  is  on  all  faces,  now, 

As  low  they  bend  to  pray ! 
How  kindly  on  the  grandsire's  brow 

Each  furrow  smooths  away ! 

vn. 

How  fond  the  pale  young  mother's  eye 
Lights  up,  with  tearful  charm, 

To  see  her  babe  enfolded  lie    • 
Upon  the  surpliced  arm  ! 


182  CHRISTENING. 


Tin. 


And  he,  of  innocence,  that  wears 

That  sign  and  spotless  vest, 
How  Shepherd-like !     Like  Him  that  bears 

The  lambkin  on  His  breast . 


IX. 

But  hark  !  the  tiny  Christian's  name  ! 

Hush  !     'Tis  the  Mystic  Trine  ! 
The  Water  and  the  Spirit  came, 

And,  there,  is  life  divine. 


The  Cross  is  signed — mysterious  seal 

Of  death  our  life  that  won  : 
And  Christ's  dear  spouse,  for  woe  or  weal, 

Hath  borne  her  Lord  a  son. 


XI. 

For  woe  or  weal !     The  grafted  shoot, 

Alas  !  may  fade  and  die  ; 
Though  long  the  fatness  of  the  Eoot 

This  shower  of  grace  supply. 


CHRISTENING.  183 


xn. 


But,  Jesu  !  take  Thy  child  from  earth 

Ere  sense  and  guile  begin, 
If,  only  so,  this  second  birth 

May  'scape  the  death  of  sin. 


t  Calmtrar, 


Y  Prayer-book  is  a  casket  bright, 
With  gold  and  incense  stored, 
Which,  every  day,  and  every  night, 

I  open  to  the  Lord  : 
Yet  when  I  first  unclasp  its  lids, 
I  find  a  bunch  of  myrrh 
Embalming  all  our  mortal  life  ; 
The  Church's  Calendar. 


But  who  would  see  an  almanac 
When  opes  his  Book  of  Prayer  ? 

Of  all  the  leaves  between  its  lids, 
These,  only,  are  not  fair  ! 


THE    CALEKDAK.  185 


So  said  I,  in  my  thoughtless  years, 
But  now,  with  awe,  I  scan 

The  Calendar,  like  Sybil-leaves 
That  tell  the  life  of  Man. 


ni. 

God  set  the  sun  and  moon  for  signs  : 

The  Church  His  signs  doth  know, 
And  here — while  sleeps  the  sluggish  world, 

She  marks  them  as  they  go. 
Here  for  His  coming  looks  she  forth 

As,  for  her  spouse,  the  bride  ; 
Here,  at  her  lattice,  faithfully 

She  waits  the  morning-tide. 


TV. 

All  time  is  hers,  and,  at  its  end, 

Her  Loed  shall  come  with  more  : 
As  one  for  whom  all  time  was  made, 

Thus  guardeth  she  her  store  ; 
And,  doating  o'er  her  letters  old, 

As  pores  the  wife  bereft, 
Thus  daily  reads  the  Bride  of  Cheist 

Each  message  He  hath  left. 
24 


186  THE    CALENDAR. 


As  prisoners  notch  their  tally-stick, 

And  wait  the  far-off  day, 
So  marks  she  days,  and  months,  and  years, 

To  ponder  and  to  pray ; 
And  year  by  year  beginning  new 

Her  faithful  task  snblime, 
How  lovingly  she  meteth  ont 

Each  portion  in  its  time  ! 

VI. 

This  little  index  of  thy  life, 

Thon,  all  thy  life,  shalt  find 
So  teaching  thee  to  tell  thy  days, 

That  wisdom  thon  may'st  mind. 
Oh  live  thou  by  the  Calendar  ; 

And,  when  each  morn  you  kneel, 
Note  how  the  numbered  days  go  by, 

Like  spokes  in  Time's  swift  wheel. 

vn. 
With  this  thy  closet  seek  ;  and  learn 

What  strengthening  word,  to-day, 
From  out  the  Holy  Book  of  God 

Our  Mother  would  display ; 


THE    CALENDAR.  187 

And  know  thy  prayers  go  up  on  high, 

With  thousands  that,  unknown, 
Are  lighted  at  the  self-same  fire, 

And  mingle  at  God's  throne. 

vni. 

For  so — though  severed  far  on  earth — 

Together  we  are  fed  ; 
And  onward,  though  we  see  it  not, 

Together  we  are  sped  ! 
Oh  live  ye  by  the  Calendar, 

And  *with  the  good  ye  dwell ; 
The  Spirit  that  comes  down  on  them 

Shall  lighten  you  as  well. 


t  Stfitl-Qirge. 


Then  said  Jesus,  Will  ye  also  go  away? — St.  John. 


/f   HE  organ  played  sweet  music 

WlrileaSj  on  Easter-day, 
All  heartless  from  the  altar, 

The  heedless  went  away : 
And  down  the  broad  aisle  crowding. 


They  seemed  a  funeral  train, 
That  were  burying  their  spirits 
To  the  music  of  that  strain. 


ii. 


As  I  listened  to  the  organ, 
And  saw  them  crowd  along, 


THE    SOUL-DIRGE.  189 

I  thought  I  heard  two  voices, 

Speaking  strangely,  but  not  strong  ; 

And  one,  it  whispered  sadly. 
Will  ye  also  go  away  I 

But  the  other  spoke  exulting, 

Ha  !  the  soul-dirge, — hear  it  play  ! 

m. 

Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge ! 

And  see  the  feast  divine  ! 
Ha  !  the  jewels  of  salvation, 

And  the  trampling  feet  of  swine  ! 
Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge  ! 

Little  think  they,  as  they  go, 
What  priceless  pearls  they  tread  on, 

Who  spurn  their  Savioee  so  ! 

IV. 

Hear  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  the  soul-dirge  ! 

It  was  dread  to  hear  it  play, 
While  the  famishing  went  crowding 

From  the  Bread  of  Life  away  : 
They  were  bidden,  they  were  bidden 

To  their  Father's  festal  board  ; 
But  they  all,  with  gleeful  faces, 

Turned  their  back  upon  the  Loed. 


1  90  the  soux-di:. 

v. 

You  had  thought  the  church  a  prison. 

Had  y  y  did  pour. 

With  giddy,  giddy  fa     -. 

From  the  c-.-n-eerated  door. 
There  was  angels'  food  all  ready. 

Bui  widen — where  were  th< 

O'er  the  highways  and  the  hecL 

Ere  the  a  )ul-dirge  cease  to  play  ! 

vl 

Oh.  the  soul-dirge,  how  it  echoed 

The  emptied  aisles  along. 
Afl  the  open  street  grew  crowded 

AVith  the  full  outpouring  thro   _  ! 
And  then — again  the?        s; 

Ha  !  the  soul-dirge  !  hear  it  play  ! 
And  the  pensive,  v  ensive   vhisper, 

Wfll  ye  also  go  awa; 

vn. 

Few.  few  were  they  that  lingered 
To  sup  with  Jesus  there  ; 

And  yet.  for  all  that  spurned  Him, 
There  was  plenty,  and  to  spare  ! 


THE    SOUL-DIRGE.  191 

And  now,  the  food  of  angels 

Uncovered  to  my  sight, 
All-glorious  was  the  altar, 

And  the  chalice  glittered  bright. 

vm. 

Then  came  the  hymn  Teisagion, 

And  rapt  me  up  on  high, 
With  angels  and  archangels 

To  land  and  magnify. 
I  seemed  to  feast  in  Heaven  ; 

And  downward  wafted  then, 
With  angels  chaunting  round  me, 

Good-will  and  peace  to  men. 

IX. 

I  may  not  tell  the  rapture 

Of  a  banquet  so  divine  ; 
Ho  !  every  one  that  thirsteth, 

Let  him  taste  the  bread  and  wine 
Hear  the  Bride  and  Spirit,  saying 

Will  ye  also  go  away  ? 
Or — go,  poor  soul,  forever  ! 

Oh  !  the  soul-dirge — hear  it  play ! 


(Cbt  Cburcb's  D:utctbtcr. 


i. 

'  H  woman  is  a  tender  tree  ! 

The   hand   must   gentle   be   that 
rears 
-flr>'  .  Through   storm  and   sunshine,  pa- 
tiently. 
That  plant  of  grace,  of  smiles  and  tears. 


rr. 

Let  her  that  waters,  at  the  font. 

Life's  earliest  blossoms,  have  the  care ; 
And  where  the  garden's  Lord  is  wont 

To  walk  His  round — oh  keep  her  there. 


ion 


in. 


Who  but  her  Mother  Church,  knows  well 
The  deep-hid  springs  of  grief  and  joy, 

That  in  the  heart  of  woman  swell, 

And  make  that  heart — or  else  destroy ! 


iy. 

Who  but  the  Church,  can  every  power 
Of  the  true  woman  nurse  to  life, 

Till,  fit  for  every  changeful  hour, 
Is  seen  the  maiden — woman — wife  ! 


'Tis  not  alone  the  radiant  face, 

And  some  accomplished  gifts,  that  shine  ; 
The  harmony  of  every  grace 

Is  nurtured  by  her  care  divine. 


VI. 

She — not  the  coy  and  bashful  art, 
But  all  the  instinct  of  the  pure, 

The  virgin  soul — the  angel  heart, 
Alone  is  mindful  to  mature. 


194  THE  CHURCH'S  DAUGHTER. 


vn. 


Even  like  the  first  warm  sun  of  May, 

Or,  to  the  daisy,  April  showers, 
Her  earliest  lesson — how  to  pray, 

Clothes  the  young  soul  with  fragrant  flowers. 


vm. 

Then,  planted  by  the  altar's  pale, 
The  Church,  with  catechising  art, 

Trains  to  the  chancel's  trellised  rail 
The  wandering  tendrils  of  the  heart. 


IX. 

And  when  before  the  mitred  priest 

She  bids,  at  length,  her  daughter  kneel, 

What  lavish  gifts  of  grace  increased 
Shine  from  her  dear  Redeemer's  seal ! 


x. 

Or  when,  her  snowy  veil  beneath, 
She  stands  a  pale  and  fearful  thing, 

xind,  trembling  like  her  orange- wreath, 
Gives  her  fair  finger  to  the  ring ; 


195 


XI. 


When  manly  honour  makes  her  bride, 
In  God's  own  name,  Triune  and  dread, 

And,  from  the  holy  altar's  side, 
Another  blessing  crowns  her  head ; 


XII. 


See  how  the  Church's  care,  for  her, 
Hath  done  the  jealous  parent's  part, 

And  been  to  him  a  monitor 

To  whom  she  gives  her  daughter's  heart ! 


xm. 

Nor  shall  she  e'er  desert,  through  life, 
Through  fearful  life,  that  daughter's  side, 

But  ever,  o'er  the  wedded  wife, 

Bend  fond,  as  o'er  the  kneelino;  bride. 

XIV. 

When  the  pale  mother  clasps  her  child, 
And  pats  her  darling  to  its  rest, 

Or  sinks  to  slumbers  undenled, 

Her  bride-ring  shining  o'er  her  breast ; 


196         the  chtech's  daughtee. 


XV. 

Again,  to  hollow  that  pure  joy, 

Comes  Holy  Church  and  tells  her,  then, 

Of  Mary  and  the  Holy  Boy, 

And  claims  the  turtle-doves  agen. 

XVI. 

Or  if,  within  the  darken'd  room, 
The  trail  of  death  be  sweeping  slow, 

The  Church  that  taught  her  unto  'Whom, 
Shall  teach  her,  too,  the  way  to  go. 

xvn. 

Then  spreads  she,  there,  an  altar  lone ; 

Her  priest,  to  bless  and  break,  is  there, 
And  angels,  radiant  from  the  throne, 

Come  winging  round  the  scene  of  prayer. 

xvm. 

So  points  the  Church  to  Paradise, 
And  bids,  in  peace,  her  child  depart ; 

Then  shuts  to  earth  the  blessed  eyes, 

And  binds  with  balm  each  bleeding  heart. 


197 


XIX. 

Then  roses  pale,  and  rose-marine, 
She  scatters  o'er  the  marble  dust ; 

And  at  the  last  heart-rending  scene, 
As  earth  takes  back  its  precious  trust ; 

xx. 

From  the  deep  grave  she  lifts  the  eye, 
Where  the  free  spirit  wings  hath  found ; 

And  leaves  her  child's  mortality, 
To  rise  an  angel  from  the  ground. 


I  tt&t  %  €I;ur4 


LOYE  the  Church —the  holy  Church, 

The  Saviour's  spotless  bride  ; 
And  oh,  I  love  her  palaces 

Through  all  the  land  so  wide  : 
The  cross-topped  spire  amid  the  trees, 
The  holy  bell  of  prayer  ; 
The  music  of  our  Mother's  voice, 
Our  Mother's  home  is  there  ! 


n. 


The  village  tower — 'tis  joy  to  me  ; 

I  cry  the  Lord  is  here  ! 
The  village  bells — they  fill  my  soul ; 

They  more  than  fill  mine  ear  ! 


I   LOVE   THE    CHURCH.  199 

O'er  kingdoms  to  the  Saviour  won, 

Their  triumph-peal  is  hurled ; 
Their  sound  is  now  in  all  the  earth. 

Their  words  throughout  the  world. 


in. 

And  here — eternal  ocean  cross'd, 

And  long,  long  ages  past, 
In  climes  beyond  the  setting  sun, 

They  preach  the  Lord  at  last ; 
And  here,  Redeemer,  are  Thy  priests 

Unbroken  in  array, 
Far  from  Thine  Holy  Sepulchre, 

And  Thine  Ascension  day  ! 


IV. 


Unbroken  in  their  lineage, 

Their  warrants  clear  as  when 
Thou,  Saviour,  didst  go  up  on  high, 

And  give  good  gifts  to  men  ; 
Here,  clothed  in  innocence  they  stand, 

To  shed  Thy  mercy  wide, 
Baptizing  to  the  Trinal  Name, 

With  waters  from  Thy  side. 


I    LOVE    THE    CHUECH. 


And  here,  confessors  of  Thy  cross, 

Thine  holy  orders  three, 
The  bishop,  and  the  elders  too, 

And  lowly  deacons  be  ; 
To  rule  and  feed  the  flock  of  Christ, 

To  fight,  of  faith,  the  strife, 
And  to  the  host  of  God's  Elect, 

To  break  the  Bread  of  Life. 

VI. 

Heie  rises,  with  the  rising  morn. 

Their  incense  unto  Thee, 
Their  bold   confession  Catholic, 

And  high  doxology : 
Soul-melting  litany  is  here, 

And  here — each  holy  feast, 
Up  to  the  altar,  duly  spread, 

Ascends  the  stoled  priest. 

vn. 

Then  with  the  message  of  our  King, 
The  herald  stands  on  high  : 

How  beautiful  the  feet  of  them 
That  on  the  mountain  cry ! 


I   LOVE    THE    CHUECH.  201 

And  then — as  when  the  doors  were  shut, 

With  Jesus  left  alone, 
The  faithful  sup  with  Christ — and  He 

In  breaking  bread  is  known. 


Till. 

And  kneeling  at  the  altar's  rail, 

With  blessings  all  divine, 
As  from  the  Saviour's  hand,  they  take 

The  broken  bread,  and  wine  ; 
In  one  communion  with  the  saints, 

With  angels  and  the  blest, 
And  looking  for  the  blessed  hope 

Of  an  eternal  rest. 


The  peace  of  God  is  on  their  heads  ; 

And  so  they  wend  away, 
To  homes  all  cheerful  with  the  light 

Of  love's  inspiring  ray  : 
And  through  the  churchyard  and  the  graves, 

With  kindly  tears  they  fare, 
Where  every  turf  was  decent  laid, 

And  hallowed  by  a  prayer. 

20 


202  I   LOVE   THE    CHURCH. 

X. 

The  dead  in  Christ — they  rest  in  hope  ; 

And  o'er  their  sleep  sublime, 
The  shadow  of  the  steeple  moves, 

From  morn  to  vesper-chime  : 
On  every  mound,  in  solemn  shade, 

Its  imaged  cross  doth  lie, 
As  goes  the  sunlight  to  the  West 

Or  rides  the  moon  on  hio;h. 

XI. 

I  love  the  Church — the  holy  Church, 

That  o'er  our  life  presides, 
The  birth,  the  bridal,  and  the  grave, 

And  many  an  hour  besides  ! 
Be  mine,  through  life,  to  live  in  her, 

And,  when  the  Lord  shall  call, 
To  die  in  her — the  spouse  of  Christ, 

The  Mother  of  us  all. 


ITALIAX     VERSIONS 

BY   COUNT   TASCA. 


10   AMO    LA    C  HIES  A 


AMO  la  Chiesa  !  Ah  !  si  la  Cliiesa  santa, 
Del  Salvator  1'  immacolata  sposa  : 
Amo  i  sacri  edifizj  onde  s'  ammanta 
Dell'  Anglia  la  ccmtrada  spaziosa  ; 
La  croce  del  pignon  fra  pianta  e  pianta 
Delia  prece  la  squilla  arnioniosa  ; 
Delia  voce  materna  il  suon  diletto 
Che  nostra  Madre  e  la  sotto  quel  tettc. 

ii. 

E  del  villaggio  il  campanile,  oh  !  quanto 

Fiacer  mi  desta  !  lo  sclamo  ;  e  qui  '1  Signore  ! 

Delle  campane  il  suon  che  aggrado  tanto 

Piu  che  gli  orecchi  mi  riempie  il  core. 

II  trionfal  lor  grido  ovunque  e  spanto 

Pei  regni  che  sommise  il  Salvatore, 

DifFuso  e  in  terra  il  lor  squillo  giocondo 

Ed  il  linguaggio  lor  per  tutto  il  mondo. 


206  caxzoxi  spikituali. 

in. 

Qui  dopo  il  volger  di  ben  lunga  etade, 
Dell'  immenso  oceano  oltre  il  confine 
Ed  oltre  le  spiaggie  ove  il  sol  cade, 
Esse  il  Signor  lian  proclamato  alfine. 
Qui  son  tuoi  preti,  o  Cristo,  in  lor  pietadc 
Fidi  alle  pure  antiche  discipline, 
Lunge  dal  santo  avello  u'  V  uman  velo 
Posasti,  e  d'  ond'  Tu  salisti  al  cielo. 


L'  ordin  di  succession  non  mai  troncato, 
Legale  e  il  lor  poter,  come  il  Juo  1'  era 
Quando  salendo  al  cielo  hai  ricolmato 
D'  ogni  tuo  ben  Y  umanitade  intera. 
Qui  ciascun  d'essi  d'innocenza  ornato 
Lunge  diffonde  la  tua  grazia  vera, 
E  battezzando  va  nel  nome  Trino 
Coll'  acque  uscite  dal  tuo  sen  divino. 

v. 

E  qui  della  Tua  croce  confessori 

Stan  tuoi  ministri  in  triplo  ordine  espressi 
I  vescovi  da  prima  ed  i  seniori, 
Quind'  ad  entrambi  i  diaconi  sommessi, 
Son  del  gregge  cristian  guide  e  pastori : 
Per  la  Fe'  combattendo  obblian  se  stessi, 
Ed  ai  convivi  che  il  S ignore  invita 
Rompendo  vanno  il  pane  della  vita. 


CANZONI    SPIRITUALI.  207" 

VI. 

Pria  che  dei  monti  sol  dori  le  cime, 
Col  cattolico  e  fermo  atto  di  fede 
E  colla  lor  dossologia  sublime, 
Qui  sal  T  incenso  del  tuo  trono  al  piede. 
E  litania  che  dolce  in  cor  s'  imprime  ; 
E  ad  ogni  santa  a  noi  festa  che  riede 
All'  altar  che,  qual  deesi,  ornato  splende 
Cinto  di  stola  il  sacerdote  ascende. 

VII. 

Poi  del  Re  nostro  fia  che  il  nunzio  apporte 
Dair  alto  seggio  la  parola  eletta. 
Oh  !  quanto  e  bello  il  progredir  del  forte 
Che  sale  a  predicar  del  moute  in  vetta ! 
Poi,  come  allor  che  si  sevrar'  le  porte, 
Gesu  lasciato  sol,  la  prediletta 
Cena  fedel  con  Cristo,  ov'  Egli  poi 
Rompendo  il  pane  si  rivela  a  noi. 

VIII. 

Ed  umilmente  inginocchiati  presso 
L'  altar,  col  don  d'  ogni  favor  divino, 
Qual  dalla  man  del  Salvator  istesso, 
Prendono  il  pan  ridotto  in  pezzi  e  '1  vino, 
In  comunion  coi  santi  e  nell*  amplesso 
D'  ogni  beato  e  d'  ogni  serafino  : 
Assorti  nel  desio  che  il  di  superno 
Per  lor  riluca  del  riposo  eterno. 


caxzoxi  BPiErruALi. 


IX. 


Colla  pace  di  Dio  sul  volto  e  in  seno 

Fan  poi  clal  tempio  al  tetto  lor  passaggio, 

Tutt'  esultanti  in  quel  lume  sereno 

Che  d'  amor  ne'  lor  petti  infonde  un  raggio. 

Lungo  il  sacrato  che  di  tombe  e  pieno 

Offron  di  pianto  ai  morti  un  dolce  omaggio  ; 

La  consacrate  dal  pregar,  di  molle 

Erba  e  di  nor  s'  ammantano  le  zolle  ; 

x. 

I  morti  in  Cristo  dorniono  sperando, 

E  coprendo  il  lor  sonno  alto  e  tranquillo 
L'  ombra  del  campanil  gira  da  quando 
II  sole  spanta  al  vespertino  squillo  : 
Ogni  zolla  in  solenne  ombra  mostrando 
Yien  della  crcce  l'immortal  vessillo, 
O  1'  maggior  astro  all'  occidente  scenda, 
0  la  pallida  lima  in  ciel  risplenda. 

XI. 

Amo  la  Chiesa,  ah !  si  la  Chiesa  santa 
Che  la  nostra  quaggiu  vita  presiede, 
E  culla,  e  nozze,  e  funerali,  e  quanta 
Aftra  serie  d'  eventi  a  noi  succede. 
Ah  !  ch'  io  sempre  in  lei  viva  !  E  quando  infranta 
Mia  vita,  assunto  alia  tremenda  sede 
Del  giudizio  saro,  ch'  io  muoja  in  lei  .   .   . 
Tu  sposa  a  CRISTO  e  Madre  nostra  sei  ! 


CANZONI    SPIEITUALI.  209 

IL   SERVIZIO   D I VI NO. 
ux   Gionxo    chiama   l'altro," — Salmo,  19. 


QUANDO  T  oriental  lido  remoto 
Manda  del  di  la  prima  e  vaga  luce, 
E  '1  sol  poggiando  per  1'  etereo  vuoto 
Qualclic  festa  solenne  riconduce, 
Timori  e  colpe  a  prevenir,  devoto 
L'  anglo-prete  ad  orar  la  si  conduce  : 
Per  la  cena  eucaristica  parato 
Risplendente  e  1*  altar  piu  dell'  usato. 

ii. 

Ad  ogni  era  che  il  sole  in  suo  cammino 
Marca  sul  meridiano  in  simil  giorno 
Ricomincia  il  fedel  rito  divino  ; 
Nuovi  preti  al  pregar  fanno  ritorno 
Benedicendo  sempre  il  pane  e  '1  vino  : 
Nuova  preghiera  il  sol  saluta,  e  intorno 
Sul  continente  e  sovra  il  mar,  pertutto 
Del  suon  si  spande  il  progredente  fluttc. 

in. 

Poi  d'  Occidente  le  savane  il  santo 
Lume  vedere  alia  lor  volta  ponno  : 
E  pronti  i  chierci  di  Nashota  intanto 
Per  unirsi  a  cantar  rompon  lor  sonno  : 

27 


210  canzoni  spmrruALi. 

Cinti  di  bianchi  lin  fanno  col  canto 
Le  antifbne  salire  al  sommo  Donno, 
Che  nate  in  Ori'ente  e  poi,  compito 
Del  globo  il  giro,  han  fin  sopra  quel  lito. 

IV. 

Ma  quando  il  santo  lume  illanguidito 
Verso  il  lontano  occaso  lor  declina, 
E  cominciando  va  del  vespro  il  lito 
Esatto  qual  la  Stella  vespertina, 
Notte  in  quel  punto  ha  di  regnar  finito 
IP  l'uom  ne'  templi  oriental  s'inchina : 
Nuov'  alba  a  destar  vien  nuova  preghiera 
Sorta  pur  per  girar  la  terra  intera. 

v. 

Fratelli  d'  Occidente  !  Oh  !  come  anelo 

Vorria  mio  spirto  al  vostro  esser  congiunto, 
Alio  ch'  un  inno  con  fervente  zelo 
S'  erge  nel  tempio  dell'  offerta  al  punto  ; 
Pensando  quale  ei  d'  spazio  di  cielo 
Varcar  pria  che  sul  labbro  a  voi  sia  giunto, 
Ripetuto  via  via  di  gente  in  gente 
Finche  tra  voi  Festremo  Amen  si  sente. 

VI. 

Pria  che  il  fosse  da  me,  quell'  inno  stesso 
Cantato  fu  nei  templi  d'Inghilterra, 
Ed  in  barbara  lingua  forse  espresso 
Pei  colli  e  i  pian  che  1'  Oriente  serra : 


cA^zora  spiKimAu.  211 

E  per  morir  nel  piii  cupo  recesso 
Da  pinti  muri  e  volte,  u'  si  disserra, 
S'  innoltra  in  selve  il  cui  denso  fogliame 
Copre  il  selvaggio  dal  color  di  rame. 

YII. 

Lo  spirto  mio  comniuovesi  all'  idea 
Che  il  nostro  vincitor  rito  Anglicano, 
Dall'  Isola  fedele  uscir  potea 
Per  unir  tanti  cor  di  mano  in  mano  ! 
Un  segno  egli  e  clie  Dio  ne  concedea 
Contro  il  crudele  anatema  roraano  : 
Suggel  vital,  fuoco  divin  che  suole 
Ardere,  o  Madre,  in  queste  tne  parole  : 

VIII. 

Una — nell'  acqua  consacrata,  il  dritto 
Sebben  per  lunga  eta  dimenticato  ; 
Una — nel  sangue  di  Gesii  traffitto, 
Benche  1'  abbia  T  alter  Trento  negato  ; 
Una — in  spirito  e  senza  alcun  conflitto 
Con  ogni  antica  parte  e  dritto  usato  ; 
Deh !  fa  si,  cli'  io  per  sempre,  o  Madre  mia, 
Una  con  CRISTO.  una  con  Te  mi  sia. 


212  CANZONI    SPIRITTJALI. 

LE   CAMP  ARE  A   FESTA   IN  INGEILTEERA 

i. 

SQUILLE  all !  squille  del  loco  nativo, 

D  'Inghilterr  la  verde,  l'antica, 

II  cui  suon  per  mill'  anni  festivo 

Dalle  torri  ederose  s'  udi ! 
Com'  e  lieta  la  musica  loro 

Quando  air  alba  d'un  giorno  solenne 

Pari  a  voce  d'angelico  coro, 

A  pregar  tutto  un  popolo  uni ! 

ii. 

Mille  storie  un  tal  suono  di  festa, 
Vecchie  storie  si  grate  ricorda  : 
Mille  a  Prima  ed  a  Vespro  ridesta 
Commoventi  memorie  nel  cor. 

Nozze  e  morte  al  mendico,  al  sovrano 
Proelamando  con  voce  imparziale, 
Benedetto,  solenne,  cristiano 
Delle  squille  rimbomba  il  fragor. 

in. 

Questo  suon  cbe  nel  patrio  soggiorno 
L'  alba  annunzia  del  santo  Natale, 
Come  fecero  gli  angioli  un  giorno 
Sulla  cuna  del  feimbo  divin  ; 

Come  allegro  all'  intorno  si  spande 
Pe'  tugurj,  pegli  ampli  castelli, 
Con  gran  pompa  di  tende  e  gliirlande 
Per  ornare  un  si  fausto  mat  tin  ! 


CAXZOXI    SPISITUALI. 


IV. 


Sceadon  gai  d'  Inghiltcrra  i  tintinni 
Dei  torrion  dalle  gotiche  aguglie, 
Mentre  echeggian  d'antifone  e  d'  inni 
L'  ali  supe  del  tempio  maggior  ; 

Ove  il  sacro  splendor,  che  dei  preti 
Sovra  ii  capo  rifletta,  rischiara 
Di  bandiere  le  adorne  pareti, 
I  festoni  intrecciati  di  fior. 


v. 

Quando  vien  primavera  gioconda 
Suonan  liete  di  Pasqua  le  squille, 
E  il  lor  suono  t'allegra,  t'  innonda, 
D'  ere  sante,  o  Regina  fedel. 

Pari  a  scolte  i  lor  suoni  van  pronti 
Eclieggiando  d'altura  in  altura  : 
Dalle  valli  alle  cime  de'  monti 
Van  gridando  :  E  risorto  1'  Agnel ! 


VI. 

V  amo,  o  squille  del  nostra  paese, 
Coll'  ardor  di  quest'  aninia  io  y'  amo  : 
Benedico  il  Signor,  che  d'inglese 
Vecchio  tronco  discender  mi  fe'. 

Qual  suo  flglio  il  cantar  mi  diletta 
Che  dell'  Anglia  le  glorie  proclama  ; 
E  per  voi,  sacri  bronzi,  ella  e  accetta 
Al  cospetto  del  Itege  dei  re. 


'214:  1ITUAIX 

vn. 

Rede  anch'  io  di  sua  storia  famosa, 
Benclie  nafco  a  rimota  diftanza. 
T  amo  io  pur  mia  contrada  id 
Che  la  gioja  del  mondo  puoi  far. 

Tua  la  riinane, 

E  qui  c  Sign        ha  suo  i 

»Squille  inglesi  da  torri  cristiane 
II  deserto  faran  rimbombar. 


J  y AC HE. 


BAD  IE.  pilastri.  arcate 

D"  anriA**  cattedrali  tm  di  Euperbe 
Fiangon  le  lor  navate 

Or  rieo:  d'  erbe. 

A  hi !  le  vetuste  cadono 

Yc.  la  Bono, 

in  giimcrliin  H  popolo 

Alzava  un  o-iorno  del  Te  Deum  il  saoao. 


:ri  essi  non  erano 
Al  Padre  nostro.  e  T  onor  boo  non  v*  era 

il  Signer  fiagg 
Dal"  -     -      ■  _    >ra? 


- 

E.551.  il  7  -r   i-rl  ::  :i"  : 

U*  riposa  Giacob,  saeri  mi  £  fhro ; 

i"  ni  ii-ir   :  :ht  il  7  r": 

I  7 11.1  V-irri^i  M:-1tt  r:ii:  711:. 


'.'i      :::?: :  1  il  :n  1'  riii  i : 

?.::::-:  i:  illi-.r  il  il  :i:i.l  n:  :t.i:. 
>-:-ri"  : "  il.  :  n:  iciiii: 

I  :  rn  _  • :  n  ■:  71  in  11 1  il  ii.«5- :  in  i  r  rr_ : . 

11 r    : 

La  mitra  e  1  pastoral  eon  pompa  esteem; 

E  ir.iiiirl  :  11:1: 

'1:1  t;,-:   :;-,;  !_;,_::    iii.iriii.  ! 


IT. 

P-m  il  Piir-r  517:11: 

Ai::r  ;:  1111-1.  ^  ir_ :■•: :i  il  l'i : r:  511: 

Ml  Hr    li:i::     :1t71  1 

S-iri-j   11  ii::ii  :  ii  irll:ii.i  il  ~ii: :. 
Cii-sin  '::  11  iriiiri: 

'/It.'!    '::ili:     :_      l~r.ll     -    Z-TZ'.    1    IT:    : 

11     -  lii .?•:     '.  i : « .: 

^•:~--   U  n:v:  il  :-n;i:   i-1  Si_n::r 


216  CANZONI    SPIRITUAL!. 


II. 


I    MARTIUI    RIFORMAXO    LA   CHIESA. 


Badie,  pilastri,  arcate 

Di  veccbie  cattedrali,  antiebe  volte, 
Vostre  sante  navate 

Han  de'  niartiri  Fossa  in  seno  accolte. 
L'  alto  barone  e  '1  vescovo 

Inginoccbiati  Tun  deli'  altro  accanto 
Qui  lacrimando  supplici 

I  lor  voti  innalzar'  de'  santi  al  Santo. 

ii. 

II  tiranno  onde  espellere 

Dal  bel  seno  dell'  angliclie  contrade, 
Come  i  lor  padri,  u'  sorsero 

Contro  quelle  di  Roma  empie  masnade  : 
Poicb'  essi  i  templi  amavano 

U'  regno  Fede  in  suo  candor  natio, 
Benche  pur  troppo  gb*  uomini 

Osasser  la  di  surrogarsi  a  Die. 

in. 

Badie,  pilastri,  areate 

D'  ogni  antica  risorta  cattedrale, 
Delle  vostre  navate 

L'  ineenso  ancor  su  per  le  volte  sale  : 


CANZONI   SPmiTUALI.  21 

Ancor  s'  erge  nell'  anglico 

Nobil  sermon  l'antifona  cristiana, 
Ed  oltre  il  fiimie  l'organo 

Fa  la  cheta  eclieggiar  valle  lontana. 

IV. 

Vescovi,  preti  e  diaconi, 

In  puri  immacolati  paramenti 
L'  Eucaristia,  le  Supplici 

Preci  la  sono  ad  alternare  intent:. 
Dalle  festive  e  libere 

Sqnille  i  fecleli  convocati  sono, 
Che  trionfo  1'  Altissimo, 

E  sua  voce  rinibornba  entro  quel  suono. 


III. 


SOLO   I    KEGICIDI    FRODUCONO    LA    DISSENSIONS. 


Badie,  pilastri,  arcate 

Antiche  benedette  cattedrali, 
Salde  al  tremuoto  siate 

E  dell'  enipie  discordie  ai  di  fatali. 
Che  non  romani  artigli 

Questa  umiliar  potran  vecchia  Ingliilterra, 
Ma  del  suo  grenibo  i  figli 

Sono  i  nemici  ch'  or  le  fanno  guerra. 

28 


218  CAXZOXI    SPIRITTJAU. 

n. 

Entro  i  templi  un  bagliore 

Fiamnieggia  e  sordo  un  niormorio  s'  intende 
Non  di  culto  e  splendore, 

Ne  suon  di  preci  eke  devoto  ascende. 
Di  sangue  il  braccio  intriso 

Un  re  beffeggian  clie  cadea  lor  preda  ; 
Di  glo  riail  Sir  distruggere 

Vorrian  per  tema  eh'  Ei  qual  re  non  rieda. 


in. 

Or  masnadier  sacrilego 

I  luoghi  ove  i  fedeli  orar'  curvati 
Calca,  e  '1  cener  d'un  vescovo 

Va  calpestando  co'  tallon  ferrali. 
Ora  i  cavalli  sdrajansi 

U'  gia  s'inginocchiar'  martiri  santi, 
Nitrendo  ove  le  antifone 

Un  di  s'ergeano  e  i  salmi  al  cor  parlanti. 


IV. 

Dal  linestron  gia  splendido 

Di  luce  un  fiume  giu  pioveva  un  giorno, 
E  coi  sacri  dell'  iride 

Color  gli  oggetti  irradiava  intorno  : 
Ma  i  pinti  vetri  in  polvere 

Irne,  e  dei  padri  profanar'  si  l'ossa  ; 
La  fonte,  ove  il  battesimo 

S'  ebber,  del  sangue  de'  fratelli  e  rossa. 


CANZONI    SPIRITUAL!.  219 


IV. 


E    COMPIONO   IL   SETTANTESIMO    QUARTO    SALMO. 


Badie,  pilastri,  arcate 

Antiche  e  care  cattedrali,  oh !  quanto 
Trema  chi  v'  ama  !  e  armate 

Orde  nemiche  van  gioendo  intanto. 
Pur  la  prece  ancor  mormora 

Di  vostre  litanie  spargendo  il  suono  : 
Ancor  fedeli  ha  l'Auglia 

Che  pregan  serapre  pel  suo  re,  pel  trono. 

ii. 

Xelle  capanne  il  nobile, 

Mentre  il  villano  entro  il  castel  dimora, 
Si  prostra,  qual  se  1'  aere 

La  vostra  squilla  pereuotesse  ancora  : 
Puo  V  Anglia  a  mane,  a  sera 

Ne'  piu.  abbietti  mirar  tugurj  suoi, 
Di  fidi  eletta  schiera 

Tuttor  benedicente  al  rege,  a  voi. 

in. 

I.or  lezioni  i  vescovi 

Van  recitando  ancor  fra  le  ritorte  : 
Oh  !  come  i  buoni  sofirono 

Mentis  agli  empi  sorride  ingiusta  sorte  ! 


CAJSZOS1  hLI. 

Come  a  Dio  cara  e  un'  aninia 

Cui  spesso  danna  un  folle  plebiscito  ! 

Oh  !  come  Y  unto  Davide 

Precipitato  fu  dal  trono  avito  .' 

IV. 

C'cn  essi  i  lor  salteri 

Cui  gemon  su'  Lei  rabeschi  e  le  scaltun 
Ne'  templi.  gia  alteri, 

A  gara  devastar'  martello  e  scure  : 
Sulle  mine  gemono 

Che  van  coprerido  la  contrada  inlera, 
Er  del  Signor  ncl  tempio 

SuH'  ondeggiante  del  tiran  bandiera. 


V. 


MA    DIO   E    CON"   XOI    SIXO    AXLA    FINE. 


Badie,  pilastri,  arcate 

Oh !  come  poche  e  a  gran  distanza  sparse  ! 
Di  vostre  glorie  andate 

Splendidi  i  resti  ancor  potean  mirarse. 

Mille  delubri  ahi !  caddero  : 

Nottole  e  gufi  la  annidati  or  Bono, 
U'  genufiesso  il  poplo 

Un  ofiorno  alzava  del  Te  Deuin  il  suouo. 


CANZONI   SPIRITUALI.  221 

n. 

Ma  i  sassi  lor,  la  polvere 

Son  preziosi  agli  occhi  della  Fede. 
E  gia  i  baroni  riedono 

Ai  lor  castelli,  e  al  soglio  il  re  sen  riede. 
Di  nuovo  un  lieto  e  libero 

Suon  di  squille  echeggid  di  balza  in  balza  : 
Ed  ogni  chiesa  in  giubilo 

H  canto  del  Te  Deum  di  nuovo  innalza. 

ni. 

Per  nostra  madre  or  supplici 

Preghiam  :  che  l'lnghilterra  a  lungo  viva, 
Sia  grande,  santa,  libera, 

E  in  mezzo  alle  sue  glorie  ognor  giuliva : 
Sia  benedetta  ogni  anima 

Che  benedice  a  lei :  dentro  a'  suoi  muri 
Sia  pace  ;  e  gioja  stabile 

Ne*  palagi,  nelT  aule,  e  nei  tuguri. 

rv. 

Tutti,  o  preganti  in  anglica 

Lingua,  per  l'lnghilterra  a  Dio  pregate : 
E  prima  tu,  mia  patria, 

In  questa  nuova  di  tua  gloria  etate. 
Pregate  che  non  riedano 

Que'  di  che  fur  per  lei  giorni  tremendi ; 
Per  la  tua  madre,  o  figlia, 

Prega,  e  '1  Signor  propizio  all'  Anglia  rendi ! 


NOTES 


ST.   SACRAMENT. 

Lake  Geoege — the  most  beautiful  sheet  of  water  in  the  state 
of  New  York — was  called  Horicon  by  the  Aborigines ;  but  by  the 
French  missionaries  was  named  St.  Sacrement,  because  they  deem- 
ed its  waters  too  pure  for  any  thing  but  the  holy  Sacrament  of 
Baptism,  and  are  said  to  have  sent  specimens  to  France,  to  be  used 
for  that  purpose.  The  Koyal  American  army  gave  the  lake  its 
popular  name  in  compliment  to  the  reigning  sovereign,  and  as  a 
token  of  their  attachment  to  the  house  of  Hanover. 

The  visit  commemorated  in  the  ballad  was  made  in  the  summer 
of  1839. 

Page  17. — The  Bloody  Pond.  A  dark-looking,  little,  circular  pond, 
near  the  southern  extremity  of  the  lake,  is  so  called  from  its  having 
been  the  receptacle  of  the  bodies  of  the  English  and  Americans, 
who  were  massacred  by  the  Indians  after  the  capitulation  of  Fort 
William  Henry,  in  the  old  French  war. 

Page  19. — Fort  George.  The  ruins  of  this  fort  are  yet  in  pres- 
ervation; but  of  Fort  William  Henry  nothing  but  mounds  and 
embankments  remain. 

Page  21. — Katydid.     A  beautiful  American  insect,  whose  note 


224  NOTES. 

is  very  striking  in  the  autumnal  evening  music  of  American  land- 
scapes. It  is  a  delicate  kind  of  grasshopper,  and  its  colour  is  a 
beautiful  pea-green.  Its  name  is  derived  from  its  note,  which  it 
incessantly  repeats — Tcaty-did,  Jcaty-did — to  the  great  amusement 
of  listening  children. 

Page  21. — Sachems.  Some  of  my  readers  may  not  know  that 
such  is  the  aboriginal  term  for  the  Indian  chiefs. 

Page  22. — Emerald  islets.  The  surface  of  the  lake  is  broken  by 
innumerable  little  islands,  some  of  them  but  a  few  feet  in  diameter, 
which  look  as  if  they  merely  floated  on  the  water.  You  are  told 
by  the  boatmen,  who  row  you  about,  that  the  islands  are  just  one 
for  every  day  in  the  year :  an  assertion  which  I  cannot  dispute. 

Page  23. — Distant  Thung.  This  fine  mountain,  which  some 
spell  Tongue  mountain,  is  the  limit  of  one's  view  to  the  northward, 
from  the  walls  of  Fort  George. 

Page  24. — Its  brimming  urn.  Lake  George  may  well  be  called 
an  overflowing  basin,  for  its  outlet  is  a  rapid  and  descending  stream, 
which,  after  making  a  succession  of  beautiful  waterfalls,  finds  its 
way  into  Lake  Champlain. 

Page  25. — Monroe.  This  name,  with  those  of  Montcalm  and 
Uncas,  is  familiar  to  all  readers,  from  that  beautiful  romance  of  Mr. 
Cooper,  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans. 

Page  32. — St.  Sacrament  for  aye.  It  is  not  intended  here  to 
express  any  high  estimate  of  the  French  Missions  among  these 
savages.  In  general,  they  merely  changed  the  superstitions  of  the 
barbarians,  without  improving  their  moral  or  social  condition. 

II. 

DREAMLAXD. 

Page  41. — Had  flowers  and  wreaths.  This  practice,  once  of  or- 
dinary occurrence  in  England,  is  thus  explained  by  that  true-heart- 
ed Churchman,  John  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva :  "  We  adorn  their  graves 
with  flowers  and  redolent  plants,  just  emblems  of  the  life  of  man, 


NOTES.  225 

which  has  been  compared  in  Holy  Scriptures  to  those  fading  beau 
ties,  whose  roots  being  buried  in  dishonour,  rise  again  in  glory." 

Page  44. — Angel  lullabies.  The  consoling  text — "I  heard  a 
voice  from  heaven,"  &c,  is  sometimes  chaunted  at  the  grave,  ac- 
cording to  the  Kubric ;  and  may  be  said  in  poetry  to  make  that 
dumber  good  which  is  thus  hallowed  and  blessed. 

III. 

CAB  0  L. 

The  decoration  of  churches  and  churchyards  with  evergreens 
and  flowers,  and  such  customs  as  those  of  "the  Eushbearing,"  and 
"  Posy  Sunday,"  which  are  still  extant  in  England,  though  wholly 
voluntary,  and  not  ordained  by  the  Church,  are,  with  unprejudiced 
persons,  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  faculty  by  which  her  spirit 
invests  every  good  gift  of  God  with  sacred  associations. 

The  holy  George  Herbert  speaks  as  follows  in  his  Country  Par- 
son :  "  The  country  parson  is  a  lover  of  old  customs,  if  they  be 
good  and  harmless,  and  the  rather  because  country  people  are 
much  addicted  to  them  ;  so  that  to  favour  them  therein  is  to  win 
their  hearts,  and  to  oppose  them  therein  is  to  deject  them.  If  there 
be  any  ill  in  the  custom  which  may  be  severed  from  the  good,  he 
pares  the  apple,  and  gives  them  the  clean  to  feed  on."  Again : 
"  The  country  parson  takes  order  that  the  church  be  swept  and 
kept  clean,  ....  and  at  great  festivals  strewed  and  stuck  with 
boughs,  and  perfumed  with  incense." 

So  Wordsworth,  in  his  Ecclesiastical  Sketches,  describes  a  day 
among  the  parishes  of  Westmoreland,  where  the  village  children 
are  accustomed  to  come  forth  : 

"  by  rustic  music  led, 


Through  the  still  churchyard,  each  with  garland  gay, 
That  carried,  sceptre-like,  o'er  tops  the  head 
Of  the  proud  bearer." 


NOTES. 

It  is  by  such  spontaneous  and  instinctive  tributes,  precisely  such 
in  principle  as  were  ordained  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  accepted 
in  the  New  (Xehemiah  viii.  15  ;  St.  Matthew  xxi.  8),  that  the  beau- 
tiful gifts  of  God  are  severed  from  vain  and  worldly  uses,  and  made 
to  minister  to  a  sanctified  taste  in  Christians  of  full  years :  while 
for  children  they  perform  a  useful  part,  in  making  the  associations 
of  their  religion  attractive  and  lovely. 

IV. 

ENGLAND. 

In  this  ballad,  such  feelings  toward  the  mother-country  are  ex- 
pressed, as  I  am  happy  to  suppose,  not  personal  to  myself,  but  com- 
mon to  nearly  all  educated  and  liberal-minded  Americans. 

Page  64. — Baliol  men.  Perhaps  I  should  rather  have  apostro- 
phized the  Men  of  Belial,  than  the  respectable  society  named  in  the 
text ;  but  a  college  that  once  had  such  a  man  as  Southey  for  a 
member,  can  afford  to  bear  a  little  responsibility  for  his  juvenile 
Jacobinism.  The  apostrophe  was  suggested  by  his  mean  little 
poem  on  "  the  Chapel  Bell,"  written  in  1793.  The  young  pantiso- 
crat  seems  to  have  had  a  peculiar  spite  against  that  bell,  as  another 
of  his  poems  begins  with  the  hemistich,  "  Toll  on,  toll  on,  old  bell!  " 

Page  65. — Quiet  Corpus.  I  have  an  impression  that  Corpus 
must  be  a  quiet  place  for  a  moderate  reading  man,  not  over  studi- 
ous, and  fond  of  conversation.  What  can  be  got  from  books  and 
pictures  gives  an  American  this  impression ;  but  I  know  nothing 
about  it,  and  am  very  likely  wide  of  the  mark. 

Y. 

CHRONICLES. 

Page  73. — Altars  all  as  spotless.  This  refers  to  the  early  Brit- 
ish Church  in  its  original  independence,  purity,  and  poverty,  before 
the  conversion  of  the  Saxons  by  St.  Augustine,  a.d.  596. 


NOTES.  227 

Page  73. —  Oh,  ico!  the  Tiovr.  Xot  the  hour  of  Augustine's 
mission  and  patriarchate :  for  he  was  sent  to  convert  the  Saxons 
by  the  good  and  great  Gregory,  who  abhorred  the  idea  of  a  suprem- 
acy ;  but  the  hour  when  the  pall  icas  imposed,  with  an  oath  of  sub- 
jection, in  the  days  of  "William  Eufus,  against  every  principle  of 
apostolical  precedent  and  canon  law. 

Page  75. — To  chase  aicay  the  tyrant.  The  English  Reformation 
was  no  revolution.  It  merely  threw  off  the  usurped  supremacy  of 
the  Bishop  of  Rome,  and  restored  the  Church  to  her  primitive 
purity  and  independence ;  rejecting  whatever  was  papal,  but  care- 
fully retaining  all  that  was  apostolical. 

Page  76. — A  nation  shouteth  round.  For  the  first  twelve  years 
of  Elizabeth,  the  papists  themselves  frequented  the  sacraments  and 
ministry  of  the  ancient  Church  of  England ;  showing  that  in  nothing 
had  its  identity  been  lost  or  its  Catholicity  impaired,  even  in  their 
estimation.  During  that  period  two  popes  had  offered  to  receive 
and  approve  the  Common  Prayer,  if  the  Queen  would  but  consent 
to  the  papal  supremacy — so  that,  even  in  their  judgment,  the 
Church  had  forfeited  nothing  essential  to  Catholicity,  by  translat- 
ing and  reforming  her  worship.  Thus,  till  1569,  when  Pius  V. 
forced  those  Englishmen  who  were  in  favour  of  his  supremacy  to 
become  recusants,  there  was  in  England  one  pure  and  undivided 
Church,  which,  but  for  the  Romish  and  Puritan  schisms  which  soon 
followed,  would  have  become  the  joy  of  the  whole  earth,  for  beauty 
and  primitive  completeness.  The  recusancy  of  1569  was  the  origin 
of  the  papal  sect  in  England,  which  has  no  thread  of  connection 
with  the  ancient  Church  of  England ;  and  owes  its  existence,  as 
well  as  its  creed,  to  the  novelties  of  the  pseudo-council  of  Trent. 

Page  79. —  The  noble  in  the  cottage.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  beau- 
tifully introduced  this  fact  into  his  fine  fiction,  the  story  of  Wood- 
stock, where  Alice  Lee  and  Dr.  Rochecliffe  at  their  devotions  are 
so  beautifully  portrayed. 

Page  80.— Their  Psalter.  See  Psalm  lxxiv.  5-10,  20-24.  Hear- 
ing it  read,  one  Sunday  during  divine  service,  at  St.  Mark's  in  the 
Bowery,  suggested  these  verses. 


228  NOTES. 

Bishops  White  and  Madison,  from  whom  (with  Bp.  Provoost) 
all  our  clergy  have  descended,  were  consecrated  at  Lambeth,  Feb. 
4,  1787 ;  and  landed  in  the  New  World  on  Easter-day  succeeding, 
to  begin  a  succession  which  already  has  its  representatives  at  the 
antipodes. 

VI. 

SCOTLAND. 

In  a  collection  of  letters  on  the  Scottish  Church,  printed  in  Lon- 
don in  1690,  says  Mr.  Sage,  afterward  a  Scottish  bishop,  "I  can  affirm 
with  a  well-grounded  assurance,  that  if  by  the  people  you  mean 
the  Commonalty  .  .  .  the  third  man,  throughout  the  whole  king- 
dom, is  not  Presbyterian ;  and  if  by  the  people  you  mean  those 
who  are  persons  of  quality  and  education,  I  dare  boldly  say  not  the 
thirteenth."  And  even,  at  the  present  day — if  I  may  trust  an  ar- 
ticle in  Blackwood's,  attributed  to  Professor  Wilson — the  following 
is  a  just  account  of  things  :  "  The  greater  part  of  the  Scotch  aris- 
tocracy and  landed  men  (the  infinitely  greater  part  of  them)  are 
not  members  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  at  all.  They  are,  as  all  their 
forefathers  were,  Episcopalians.  They  yield,  as  their  ancestors 
did,  to  the  voice  of  the  majority  of  the  gross  population."  See 
Nodes  Ambrosiance. 

Page  91. — Shall  flout  them.  For  a  very  graphic  description  of 
the  poor  appearance  which  the  Kirk  makes  in  Glasgow  Cathedral, 
and  some  fine  remarks  thereon,  see  "  Peter's  Letters,"  (No.  lxvii.) 
by  Lockhart. 

And  shame  the  Church,  &c.  The  American  Church  owes  its 
episcopate  to  the  persecuted  and  almost  extinguished  Church  of 
Scotland,  which  not  only  gave  to  America  her  first  bishop,  in  the 
person  of  Seabury,  but  by  so  doing  was  the  means  of  securing  the 
Lambeth  consecrations,  with  which  that  from  Scotland  was  united. 
(See  Bp.  Wilberforce's  American  Church,  page  194.)  Thus  she 
may  be  said  to  have  put  her  more  flourishing  sister  to  shame. 


NOTES.  229 

Page  92. — The  fishwife's  voice.  The  story  of  Jenny  Geddes, 
and  her  exploit  in  the  High  Church  of  St.  Giles',  Edinburgh  (July 
23,  1637),  is  probably  familiar  to  my  reader,  but  may  be  found  in 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  Second  Series. 

Page  92. — Braes  of  Ross.  The  old  see  of  Ross  has  once  more  a 
bishop. 

Page  93. — The  Moray  Shepherd.  No  Scottish  bishop  is  more 
venerated  in  America,  than  the  late  good  bishop  of  Moray  (Dr.  Jolly), 
who  should  have  been  buried  in  Elgin  Cathedral,  where  many  of 
his  predecessors  lie  entombed. 

Page  93. — Glenalmond.  The  founding  of  Trinity  College,  near 
Perth,  is  hailed  by  the  friends  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  as  an 
earnest  of  better  days  at  hand. 

VII. 

SEABURY'S  MITRE. 

Samuel  Seabuet,  Bishop  of  Connecticut,  and  first  Bishop  of 
the  American  Church,  was  consecrated  at  Aberdeen,  in  Scotland, 
November  14,  1784.     He  died  Feb.  25,  1796. 

Page  96. —  Crown  of  thorn.  The  mitre  is  of  black  satin  adorn- 
ed with  gold-thread  needlework.  The  Cross  is  embroidered  on  the 
front ;  and  on  the  reverse,  a  truly  significant  emblem,  the  crown 
of  thorns. 

Page  95. — Her  old  Regalia.  The  discovery  of  the  ancient  Re- 
galia of  Scotland  in  1817,  was  the  subject  of  great  national  enthu- 
siasm ;  and  the  royal  jewels  are  now  preserved  in  the  castle  of 
Edinburgh,  as  symbols  of  the  independence  of  the  kingdom. 

VIII.. 

RUSTIC   CHURCHES. 

Page  100. — St.  Joseph's  thorn.  The  celebrated  Glastonbury  thorn, 
which  blooms  at  Christmas,  is  fabled  to  have  been  the  staff  of  St. 


230  H0TES. 

Joseph  of  Arimathea.  when  he  came  into  England  as  a  missionary. 
a.d.  65.  In  its  immediate  vicinity  stood  the  earliest  British  Church, 
described  by  old  Fuller  as  follows  : — 

"It  had  in  length  sixty  feet  and  twenty-six  in  breadth,  made 
of  rods,  wattled  or  interwoven.  .  .  .  Let  not  stately  modern 
churches  disdain  to  stoop,  with  their  highest  steeples,  reverently 
doing  homage  to  this  poor  structure  as  their  first  platform  and 
precedent.  And  let  their  chequered  pavements  no  more  disclaim 
this  oratory's  plain  floor,  than  its  thatched  covering  doth  envy  their 
leaden  roofs."     Eccles.  Hist.,  vol.  i.  p.  14.     London.  183 1. 

IX. 

0HUBCHTABD8. 

The  parish  of  St.  George's.  Hempstead,  is  the  oldest  in  the 
state  of  New  York  :  and  its  churchyard,  though  not  a  model  ceme- 
tery, is  dear  to  me  as  containing  the  remains  of  my  kinsman.  Ed- 
ward Henry  Hyde,  some  time  a  member  of  the  University  of  New 
York,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  intended  for  Holy  Orders.  This 
ballad  was  suggested  by  a  moonlight  visit  to  his  grave,  in  1840. 


TEIXITT,    OLD    CEUECE. 

The  removal  of  the  old  Trinity  church  was  a  sad  sight  to  many 
Xew  Yorkers :  notwithstanding  the  proposed  splendours  of  the 
new  church.  I  had  often  worshipped  in  it  in  my  boyhood ;  and 
just  as  its  destruction  was  beginning,  had  a  final  opportunity  of 
paying  my  vows  there  on  my  twenty-first  anniversary,  Friday, 
May  10,  1839. 

Page  110. — Emgy.  The  statue  of  Bishop  Hobart,  now  in  the 
sacristy  of  the  new  church,  filled  the  place  of  an  altar-piece  in  the 
old  church. 


NOTES.  231 

XI. 

TRINITY,    NEW   CHURCH. 

This  church  was  consecrated  on  Ascension-day,  1846,  when  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  being  present  at  the  solemnities. 

Page  116. — Mould  of  doctrine.  The  original  Greek  of  Romans 
vi.  17  (as  criticized  by  a  venerated  kinsman,  in  familiar  conversation,) 
suggested  this  expression,  which  is  a  literal  translation  of  what  our 
English  version  renders— form  of  doctrine. 

XII. 

ORATORIES. 

The  custom  here  commended  has  had  its  examples  among  the 
best  of  men  of  widely  differing  piety ;  and  I  would  instance  Her- 
bert, Hooker,  and  Henry  Venn.  Even  in  the  dullest  days  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  it  is  gratifying  to  find  Dr.  Johnson  recommend- 
ing it  on  one  occasion  to  his  friend  Boswell.  See  Life  of  Johnson, 
i.  397.     Dublin. 

Page  125. —  The  Psalmist's  cedars.     See  Psalm  xcii.  11,  12. 

XIII. 
LITTLE    WOOD1IERE. 

Had  the  Church,  as  it  is  in  the  English  Prayer-book,  been  allow- 
ed its  quiet  and  natural  development  during  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, it  would  have  been  found  in  every  English  village  as  I  have 
portrayed  it  in  this  ballad.  Such  Herbert,  and  Eerrar,  and  Hooker 
would  have  had  it ;  and,  in  our  own  days,  Bishop  Heber. 

Page  128. —  When  the  Litany,  &c.  "  It  was  a  custom  in  several 
churches  to  toll  a  bell  while  the  Litany  was  reading,  to  give  notice 
to  the  people  that  the  Communion  Service  was  coming  on." 
Wheatley. 

Page  130. —  On  the  north.  It  was  the  custom  of  our  ancestors 
to  bury  outcasts  and  criminals  on  the  shady  side  of  the  church. 


232  NOTES. 

XIV. 

DESOLATIONS. 

In  the  diocese  of  Virginia,  such  ruins  as  are  here  described  un- 
happily abound. 

XV. 

CHELSEA. 

The  General  Theological  Seminary  of  the  American  Church  is 
situated  in  that  quarter  of  New  York  known  as  Chelsea. 

Page  139. —  When  old  Canute.  See  the  story  in  Sharon  Tur- 
ner's Anglo-Saxons.  Canute  himself  composed  a  ballad  upon  the 
occasion,  of  which  a  fragment  remains : 

"Merry  sang  the  monks  in  Ely, 
When  Canute  the  king  was  sailing  by; 
Row,  ye  knights,  near  the  land, 
And  let  us  hear  the  monks'  song." 

Such  is  Turner's  translation.  Wordsworth  has  a  beautiful  son- 
net on  this  incident. 

XVI. 

VIGILS. 

The  Latin  lines  at  the  end  of  every  stanza  are  the  titles  of  an' 
thems  or  chants  appropriate  to  the  hours. 

Page  144. — Adeste  Fideles.     Hither  ye  faithful. 

Page  145. —  Veni  Creator.  Come  Holy  Ghost  :  as  in  the  Or- 
dinal. 

Page  145. — Jubilate  Deo.     The  hundredth  Psalm. 

Page  145. —  Cum  Angelis.  With  An r els,  &c. :  as  in  the  Eu- 
charist. 

Page  145. — Nisi  Dominus.  Unless  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the 
watchman  waketh  but  in  vain.     Psalm  cxxvii. 


NOTES.  233 

Page  146. — De  Profundis.    Psalm  cxxx. 

Page  146. — Kyrie  Eleison.  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us:  as  in 
the  Litany. 

Page  146. — Miserere.     Psalm  lvii. 

Page  147. — Dies  Irce.     The  day  of  wrath. 

Page  147. — Sursum  Corda.  Lift  up  your  hearts:  as  in  the 
Eucharist. 

Page  147.     Fill  David.     O  son  of  David  :  as  in  the  Litany. 

Page  147. —  Veni  Jesu.     Come,  Lord  Jesus. 

Page  148. — Nunc  Dimittis.  Now,  Lord,  lettest  Thou  Thy  ser- 
vant depart  in  peace.     The  song  of  Simeon,  St.  Luke  ii.  29. 

XVII. 
THE   CURFEW. 

The  anecdote  of  William  I.,  which  is  employed  in  this  ballad, 
will  be  found  in  nearly  all  English  histories.  The  Curfew-bell,  an 
institution  of  that  monarch,  is  generally  understood. 

Page  152. — New  England  milage.  So  late  as  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century,  the  nine-o'clock-bell  is  said  to  have  been  gen- 
erally obeyed  in  New  England,  as  the  warning  to  go  to  bed. 

XVIII. 

NASHOTAH. 

At  Nashotah,  in  Wisconsin,  a  thousand  miles  from  the  Atlantic 
coast,  is  a  religious  establishment  of  unmarried  missionaries,  who 
live  and  labour  in  the  spirit  of  the  primitive  day.  All  that  is  said 
of  it  and  them  in  this  ballad  is  literally  true. 

The  founders  of  this  mission  (and  among  them  was  the  dear 
friend  to  whom  this  book  is  dedicated)  were,  in  1840,  my  fellow- 
students  at  Chelsea,  and  Wisconsin  was  then  a  wilderness.  It  is 
now  (1850)  a  Christian  diocese,  and  has  a  bishop,  and  twenty-one 


234:  NOTES. 

clergy, — the  blessed  results,  in  a  great  degree,  of  the  self-denying 
labours  of  the  brethren  of  Nashotah. 

Page  162. — The  Norway  rover.  Wisconsin  is  rapidly  filling  up 
with  the  better  class  of  emigrants  from  Europe ;  and  the  itin- 
erant brothers  of  Nashotah  have  under  their  care  settlements  of 
Norwegians,  Swedes,  Irish,  Welsh,  English,  and  Oneida  Indians. 
They  have  also  baptized  several  Jews. 

Page  162. — The  sad  Oneida.  Several  Oneida  Indians  are  train- 
ing for  Holy  Orders  at  Xashotah ;  and  at  the  first  Diocesan  council 
of  Wisconsin,  in  1847,  there  were  present  several  Oneidas,  lay  dele- 
gates. They  had  walked  two  hundred  miles  to  be  present,  and  on  the 
last  day  had  accomplished  forty-five  miles.  One  of  them  spoke  in 
debate  :  probably  for  the  first  time  (says  my  friend,  the  Ptev.  Dr. 
Kip)  that  an  American  Indian  has  been  heard  in  the  councils  of 
the  Church. 

XIX. 

S  T.    SIL  VA  iV  S   BEL  L . 

When  this  ballad  was  written,  it  was  a  mere  a  fiction.  The 
Nashotah  missionaries  have  since  erected  a  church,  by  the  name  of 
St.  Silvanus,  and  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  the  effects  antici- 
pated in  the  ballad  have  resulted  in  some  degree. 

XX. 

TEE    CHURCH'S   DAUGHTER. 

Page  165. — Hose-marine.  I  have  taken  a  quaint  sort  of  license 
with  the  botanical  name  of  the  flower  rosemary  (rosmarinus), 
which  has  no  reference  to  the  rose  at  all,  but  is  similar  in  sound.  I 
judge  it  not  out  of  place  in  a  ballad.  The  custom  of  using  rose- 
mary at  funerals  is  thus  explained  by  Wheatley,  on  the  Common 
Praver : 


NOTES.  235 

"  To  express  their  hopes  that  their  friend  is  not  lost  forever, 
each  person  in  the  company  usually  hears  in  his  hand  a  sprig  of 
rosemary :  a  custom  which  seems  to  have  taken  its  rise  from  a 
practice  among  the  heathens,  of  a  quite  different  import.  For  they 
have  no  thought  of  a  future  resurrection,  hut  believing  that  the 
bodies  of  those  that  were  dead  would  forever  He  in  the  grave,  made 
use  of  cypress  at  their  funeral,  which  is  a  tree  that  being  once  cut 
never  revives,  but  dies  way.  But  Christians,  on  the  other  side,  having 
better  hopes,  and  knowing  that  this  very  body  of  their  friend, 
which  they  are  now  going  solemnly  to  commit  to  the  grave,  shall 
one  day  rise  again,  and  be  reunited  to  his  soul,  instead  of  cypress 
distribute  rosemary  to  the  company,  which  being  always  green,  and 
flourishing  the  more  for  being  cropt  (and  of  which  a  sprig  only 
being  set  in  the  ground,  will  sprout  up  immediately  and  branch  into 
a  tree),  is  more  proper  to  express  their  confidence  and  trust. " 


THE  END. 


